


one single thread of gold (tied me to you)

by aac7



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Cindered Shadows DLC Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Just a Dash of Angst Though, Post-Canon, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Time Skip, Retelling, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 128,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26873509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aac7/pseuds/aac7
Summary: Claude liked to refer to fate as an invisible thread. According to ancient Almyran proverbs, there's a golden thread that connects two people who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. Over time, the thread can stretch, or even tangle, but it never breaks.Or, a little dive behind the scenes of White Clouds and Verdant Wind
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 523
Kudos: 323





	1. harpstring moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because i'm playing the GD route a third time and am feeling all the feels

“Hey, Teach?” 

Byleth looks up from her desk as Claude saunters into the classroom, a lopsided smile on his face, hands held behind his back. “Yes?”

“You settling in okay?” He asks, leaning against an adjacent desk, bringing his hands around to reveal a small parcel. He smiles at her, silently goading her to ask what it is. 

She knows he’s trying to tempt her into some kind of trade of information, so she chooses to ignore it for now. “Sure,” she nods, turning her attention back to the forms Seteth had asked her to fill out. She doesn’t know the answers to more than half these questions about her personal history, and she can already imagine the look of disdain on his face when she hands this in.

Restless as ever, Claude leans closer, trying to peek at the few words she’d scribbled onto the parchment. “Whatcha doing?” 

“Faculty stuff, none of your business,” she answers curtly, and he huffs pitifully, leaning back. “Did you need something from me?”

“Actually, yes,” he straightens, clearing his throat. “Lysithea — white hair, short, gets a little feral when you treat her like a kid — was asking about a syllabus. The Black Eagles and Blue Lions have already gotten theirs, and the little eager beaver wants to get ahead on the reading before our first class on Monday.” 

A fair request as house leader, she’ll admit. One she unfortunately hadn’t prepared for. She’d just been appointed this new post a week and a half ago, and with her distinct lack of experience, drawing up a decent syllabus had proved nearly impossible. With her first official lecture approaching, she supposed it was her duty as a professor to provide.

She feels Claude’s eyes on her as she silently grabs a blank sheet of parchment, dipping her quill into the ink pot, thinking. A syllabus defined class expectations and responsibilities, but she’d never been filled in on those, had she? This was a military academy, the students would be expected to excel in both real life combat and training exercises. Tactics and battle. Magic and weaponry. 

The premise, ultimately, was to stay alive. 

With that in mind, she crafts her syllabus. When she’s done, she hands the new syllabus to Claude. “Give that to Lysithea,” she says, watching as he scans over it himself, an amused chuckle escaping his lips. 

“Oh, I can’t wait for her to read this,” he grins, folding the paper and tucking it into his pocket. “Before I leave and let you get back to Seteth’s little questionnaire,” he’s certainly more shrewd than she gives him credit for. He slides the parcel across her desk. “This is for you, from Lady Rhea. Consider it your official welcome gift to the Officer’s Academy.” 

“I’ll be sure to give her my thanks,” she says, placing a hand on the parcel, fingers fiddling with the twine wrapped around it. There’s a fresh white lily tucked into the bow, the exact kind that Rhea wears in her hair. 

A gift from the Archbishop? Oh, her father wouldn’t be pleased. 

Claude lingers for a moment, hovering a safe distance from her desk, but eyeing the package. “I’m not opening it here,” she tells him, and he holds his hands up in surrender, bidding her an official farewell and finally retreating out into the afternoon sun. 

_“Ever so nosy, that one,”_ Sothis laughs in her head. _“We certainly have an interesting year ahead of us.”_

For the first time since Sothis had spoken to her, Byleth finds that she agrees. 

  
  


__________

  
  


Claude thought that Fódlan was strange.

His aimless wanderings around the monastery had provided him with more information than any book, illustration, or tale from the library back home ever had. Words, pictures, and cryptic folklore simply could not capture the depth of Fodlan’s cultures and practices, and each discovery he made was more fascinating than the other. 

That being said, there were still many things he didn’t understand about Fódlan, but who better to learn from than the people who inhabited this strange, new land that he would soon play a role in leading? It was then that people watching had quickly become his favourite pass-time. He thought it was kind of fun, seeing how his classmates reacted to things. 

He’d met Edelgard and Dimitri first, at a stuffy noble dinner where Lady Rhea had given them her blessing as new house leaders for the coming school year. It’d been awkward, as all first meetings were, but he’d managed to carve out a hollow idea of who they were. 

Or, who they pretended to be.

At surface level, Their Highnesses were slightly similar. They moved with the same stiff, practiced mannerisms, were unbearably polite, and didn’t tolerate any of his nonsense. They were decent enough, and Claude was having fun feuling their subtle game of one-upmanship. 

But behind their pretty speech and mechanical movements, Claude caught the thinly veiled condescending nature of Their Highnesses interactions. He saw the narrowed eyes at the other’s back, the forced, tight-lipped smiles in passing greetings. One could assume that they had some unresolved - as Hilda would call it - beef.

It wasn’t until the rest of the students had arrived at the monastery that he’d realized just how different his fellow house leaders were. 

While Edelgard was undoubtedly civil towards her classmates, Claude had noticed that there was an obvious distance between the future emperor and her peers. He found this particularly odd because the majority of them were nobles, and most of them were destined to inherit the positions of their parents, and work closely with her in the near future. This was the perfect time to make connections and establish alliances, so why did she hold them at arm's length and keep the company of her broody vassal? Although, her classmates didn’t seem to seek her out or try to close the distance themselves. The lines were blurry, and he couldn’t properly attribute fault.

On the other hand, Dimitri was true to the Kingdom’s code of chivalry and duty, seemed more willing to bridge the gap between himself and his peers, and they reciprocated. Well, all except Felix, of course. Claude wasn’t sure what was going on there, but the way he’d refused to shake Dimitri’s hand and called him some type of animal during their house introductions told him that there was something rocky going on there. Regardless, according to the snippets of conversation Claude may or may not have eavesdropped on, the majority of the Blue Lions were already a tight knit group. Lorenz had said that Annette and Mercedes had attended the Royal School of Sorcery together. Ingrid had told him that herself, Dimitri, Felix, and Sylvain were childhood friends. It made the rift between the Fraldarius heir and the crown prince even more confusing. 

Discerning the hidden truths behind his fellow house leaders was confusing, yes. He added it to his mental list of things he didn’t understand, only one bullet point below the mystery that was at the top of his list. 

The bullet point consisted of a single name, was circled, underlined three times, and question marked. 

_Teach._

The mercenary turned professor who had saved them from the bandits the night they had stumbled into Remire Village. The apparent daughter of Jeralt, whose reputation as the ‘Blade Breaker’ preceded him, dubbed by Edelgard as the ‘strongest knight to ever have lived’ during his time as captain of the Knights of Seiros. 

She’d been here nearly a week and a half now, and honestly? 

Claude was kind of underwhelmed. 

Here was the thing he had learned about dear old Teach; 

She didn’t leave her room when she thought no one was watching to meet anyone in dark alleys. She didn’t take unauthorized books from the library. She didn’t mix mild poisons in her room. No, Teach had stuck to the same routine since the day she’d arrived at Garreg Mach. She would rise at dawn and have breakfast with her father. She’d attack a few training dummies, then walk around the monastery to talk to students and pick up odd items, occasionally plucking snails or worms off the ground to use as bait. Then she would fish until lunch. Once she was done eating, she would hole herself inside of her room until dinner. Then she’d head to the sauna and blow her candles out for the night. 

For someone so mysterious, his new professor was horribly mundane.

The obvious questions still tugged at the corners of his mind. As far as Claude knew, she’d been on the road as a mercenary for most of her life, and hadn’t a formal education of her own. Yet she had scored a teaching gig at one of Fodlan’s most prestigious military academies. No interview necessary. Despite showing no interest or knowledge in the Church of Seiros, why did Rhea seem so taken with her?

She surprised him though. He’d honestly expected her to pick the Blue Lions, after all. She just seemed to have more in common with the Faerghans. The Black Eagles were more magic based, and the Deer had an affinity for archery. Teach used a sword, like Felix. Her father used a lance, like Ingrid, Sylvain, and Dimitri. He’d even heard rumour that Jeralt was born in Faerghus. Anyone would stick to what they were familiar with, especially a first time teacher.

He’d prepared himself for disappointment, but for once in his life, he’d been wrong and he found that he didn’t mind. She’d instead chosen to teach the Golden Deer. It was yet another mystery in the haze of who she was exactly. 

Just like she’d taken the lead that night in Remire, she’d led the Deer to a near flawless victory in the mock battle between the houses. She didn’t break a sweat alternating parries between Dimitri and Felix, and even had Marianne take _Dedue_ out with a Blizzard spell, and had Hilda send Manuela into her own infirmary. This woman knew what she was doing, and during that night’s victory high, Claude had begun reevaluating his plans for the future. 

He had a feeling she would need to be part of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lysithea, tears in her eyes as she reads the syllabus: what the fuck?
> 
> 1180 Golden Deer Syllabus
> 
> \- don't hesitate  
> \- don't be stupid  
> \- don't die


	2. garland moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What?" A biography by Claude von Riegan

In the weeks after their first mission, Teach had asked him to check in with his classmates and see how they were coping. Claude didn’t have a problem with that, he was always watching his classmates anyways, he might as well actually talk to them this time around. 

So he’d done a few rounds of the monastery. He’d caught Ignatz talking to the goddess in the cathedral, helped Raphael run some errands, hung out with Marianne and Dorte. He did some chores with Leonie and poked fun at Lysithea, gossiped a bit with Hilda. Even endured a verbal lashing from Lorenz. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and Claude deemed that his classmates were a bit shaken, but otherwise fine. Being at a military academy, battle was something they had to steel themselves for.

Now that he’d determined that his classmates had some peace of mind, he could get down to business. 

The Church of Seiros was the latest subject of yet another one of Claude’s many wonderings. He’d never come in contact with an absolute power that was so...unabsolute. Back home, power was power, and the rule of those who had it was absolute in every way and form. While the Church once extended its influence into all three factions of Fódlan, it was clear that their power was dwindling. In fact, the Southern Church had been forced to disband during the Empire’s insurrection. To think, for the religion to be ousted of the faction that had once fought alongside the divine Saint Seiros. To throw aside such deep history...even Claude wouldn’t know where to begin.

Of the remaining branches, the Eastern Church situated within the Alliance was by far the weakest. Claude had been by a few times with his grandfather. He’d seen the little town centered around the small chapel, tucked away into the corner of Edmund and Riegan territories. With hardly a military force to mobilize, they were heavily dependent on the Central Church. Regardless, that didn’t stop the nobles of the Alliance from sucking up to them, using religion as a ploy to further their own ambitions. 

He would have thought that the Western Church fared better. Faerghus’ ties to religion were deeply ingrained into its history. Unlike its eastern counterpart, it housed sufficient military presence, and many of the Kingdom’s nobility were devout believers. 

Although, according to the conversation he had overheard between Seteth and Teach, the Western Church had made some questionable troop movements as of late. He’d enlisted her with the job of investigating these rumours last weekend. It appeared that not all was not well in the crumbling Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. 

The church held so many secrets, and it was quickly becoming apparent that there wasn’t enough time in the world to unravel them all.

Speaking of the secrets, what was the _real_ story behind Zanado? How did it come to be called the ‘Red Canyon’ when nothing there was actually red? Claude hadn’t found anything especially enlightening in the library, but word was that Seteth had a stash of confiscated books in his office. Unfortunately, the Archbishop’s advisor didn’t seem too keen on opening up his private library, and Claude didn’t exactly feel comfortable breaking into his office and borrowing them himself.

Well, not yet at least. Give it a few weeks.

There was something else gnawing at his brain though. Why did Teach find Zanado so familiar? From what little information he had threaded together, Zanado was sacred grounds, and only a select few of the highest ranking church officials were allowed entry. What business would a mercenary have there? A wandering mercenary who had no ties or even knowledge of the church. 

It was becoming painstakingly clear that his people watching wouldn’t answer his questions. No, he had to go straight to the source and figure it out himself. 

When approaching an individual for information, Claude probably knew more than they knew about themselves. He liked to have an arsenal of information to fall back on, zeroing in on a person’s weakness and picking at it until they caved and told him what he wanted to know. It wasn’t just their words though, secrets were often unmasked by unconscious nonverbal cues. Anxious or afraid. Lying or telling the truth. Body language often indicated what words did not, you just had to look close enough to realize it.

It was different with Teach. There was just...nothing there to analyze. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t frown either. She wouldn’t laugh when he made a joke or get angry when he bothered Lorenz. There was no impatience or excitement. It was like her mouth was set in that same straight line. Her eyes were blank, so unlike the tired, battle-weathered gaze of her father. Claude just couldn’t read her at all. 

But there had to be something there, he just knew it. There was always something, and maybe she was just _very_ good at hiding it. 

Claude finds her seated on a bench outside of the training grounds, a basket of white roses sitting on her lap. She’s staring down at the flowers and the deep look of concentration on her face is the very one she had in Zanado. 

“Hey, Teach,” he greets, and her head snaps up as he takes a seat beside her. “I see you’re as stony-faced as usual.” 

“Claude,” she blinks, clutching the basket tightly.

“Hmm,” he hums, studying her face. “I can’t tell if you’re feeling resigned or if you’re just lost in thought. Or maybe you simply don’t care about anything that’s going on.”

Her brows knot slightly, and it’s almost as if she’s glaring at him. 

“Oh, sorry,” he apologizes quickly. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I just find you fascinating.” Her brow doesn’t smooth. “Actually, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Can you spare the time?”

She eyes him one last time before placing the basket of rose between them. “Sure,” she sighs. “I’m not getting anywhere with these garlands anyways.” 

“You’re making a garland? I didn’t take you for the type to do that sort of stuff,” he admits. She was so removed from Fódlan’s traditions.

“Hilda said I should make one,” she shrugs. “She took off before she could show me how.” 

Typical Hilda to start something that she can’t finish. “I can show you,” he volunteers, plucking two flowers from the basket. “My mother showed me when I was young. Said I had the fingers of a delicate maiden.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she insists, but watches as he loops the rose stem. 

“Consider it a trade. You answer my questions, and I help you make a garland for that special someone,” he winks, wondering who her special someone could be. A lover, perhaps?

“Sure,” she repeats, picking up two flowers of her own and copying his movements. “I’ll do my best to answer.”

Claude doesn’t waste any time, diving right in. “Before you came here, you were a mercenary, right? Always getting your hands dirty on the battlefield and whatnot? It’s a bit unusual that you decided to become a teacher one day.” 

He watches as she slips a second stem through the loop she makes, tugging tightly to secure it. “I didn’t choose it,” she mutters under her breath. Had Rhea actually forced her? He’d have to look into that.

“Well...in any case, I’ve been meaning to ask. Did your father teach you how to fight?” 

“Yes, he did,” she confirms, holding up her knotted rose stems. “Will this hold?” 

Claude gives it a light pull. “Yeah, that’s good. I figured he taught you how to fight. You move with the exact same controlled chaos. Anyway, he used to lead the Knights, and I heard he was a legendary mercenary as well. It must have been hard on your mother, sending her only daughter off to follow in your father’s footsteps and become a mercenary too.”

That seems to elicit some type of reaction from her, judging from the way her hands cease their movements momentarily. “I never knew my mother.”

“I see. I suppose you grew up moving from battlefield to battlefield with your father then.” She must have been fighting from a pretty young age, and been how she had obtained her eerie indifference to death. She was completely desensitized to it at this point. Even as she run her opponents through with her sword, her blank face and hollow stare never faltered.

“You know, for someone around the same age as me, you have an usual amount of composure.” He supposes that’s normal for someone like her. Constant fighting forced her to adapt, to grow up too quickly in order to become self-sufficient. “I guess it’s only natural that you’d be so different from young nobles who grew up in the lap of luxury.”

She lifts her gaze from her flowers, squinting at him. Her gaze feels scrutinizing. “You don’t exactly seem like a noble either. Lorenz often reprimands you for it.”

“Ha!” He snickers at her astute observation. “Even so, I am the heir to House Riegan, the leading family of the Alliance. It’s part of the reason Lorenz so painfully judges my quote unquote ‘lack of noble disposition,’” he imitates, copying the way Lorenz had looked down his nose at him. “I didn’t exactly grow up in luxury like most people of noble blood, but hey, maybe that’s why you and I get along so well.” She hums in what he assumes in agreeance, and they sit in silence as they weave their garlands. She was more open than he’d anticipated, but he supposed he hadn’t pried as deeply as he wished. His mother had always said he pushed too hard, and that it might one day be his downfall.

“Anyhow, folks like us should stick together. As house leader, you can trust me to do anything I can to help you out. We can start by having more chats like this, and...always being honest with each other,” he adds, knotting off the garland. 

“Honest…” she repeats, sighing. “In that case, can I state an observation of mine?” 

“Please, by all means.” 

She pauses, seeming to contemplate it. The suspense is literally going to kill him. “You’re not from Fódlan.” 

His mouth goes dry, and he feels the blood rush to his head. “What?” His mind is racing a mile a minute, thoughts swirling in his head as panic grips his heart. 

“I’m not stupid,” she scoffs, yanking particularly hard on one of her knots. “I’ve been to Almyra before. For work, I think.” 

“Jeralt found work in Almyra? That’s impressive,” he swallows, trying to change the subject. “For an Almyran to hire someone from Fódlan…”

“Like you and everyone else says, he was legendary,” she reminds him. “I don’t remember much of what we were there for- I must have been young- but I remember the street markets. The colourful clothing, the food, the people, the culture.” She points to her own earlobe, and Claude self-consciously touches his own earring. In a movement totally unexpected, she reaches up and gently touches his braid before dropping her hands into her lap to return to her garland. “You don’t exactly hide it, but the people here don’t know enough.” 

Yes, it was that closed-minded mentality that kept his secret safe. For Teach to figure it out so easily though... She was much more perceptive than he would have guessed. 

“You aren’t going to tell anyone, are you?” He asks, unable to mask the worry in his voice. Claude hates how desperate he sounds.

“No,” she assures him firmly. “I won’t tell anyone. People are complicated, and we're all entitled to our secrets.” 

For some odd reason, he believes her, and _trusts_ that she’ll keep her word. She’d surely picked up on his identity earlier, possibly even the moment they’d met, but she hadn’t told anyone. Still, he would have to be more careful from here on out.

He watches quietly as she finishes her garland, weaving in a sunflower he hadn’t noticed before turning to him, the smallest smile on her face. “Hilda said to give it to someone important to me. I’m going to make another for my father but…” She holds up the garland. “I want to give you this one, as a thank you for helping me settle in, and for being so good to your classmates.” 

Claude feels heat rise to his cheeks. She was so removed from Fódlan’s customs that she didn’t understand the implications such a gift could bear. “Thank you,” he says nonetheless, bowing his head for her to slip it over. It’s too small to be worn as a necklace, so she settles it atop his unruly head of hair, her wrists brushing his temples.

With that, she pushes up off the bench, brushing stray petals and leaves off of her uniform’s skirt, eyes watching him with a curiosity he doesn’t recognize. Frankly, this whole exchange had thrown him off his game. “I must be going,” she says flatly. “I have some assignments to mark. I’ll see you in class.” 

“Have a nice night, Teach.” 

She reaches out and adjusts the garland on his head. “It’s like a crown,” she says as she turns on her heel. “A crown fit for a prince.” 

Claude’s heart nearly stops. _What? She can't possibly know._

_Can she?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth actually goes to the Captain's Quarters, where she reluctantly slaps 100G on a smug Jeralt's desk. He was right- the witty brat is Almyran.


	3. blue sea moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone else want to verbally smack Claude into a new dawn with his 'i don't understand' speech?

“That’s some sword you’ve got there, kid,” Jeralt whistles as he steps into her classroom. “So the rumours are true, you’ve gotten your hands on a Hero’s Relic.”

Byleth nods mutely, lips pursed. Just yesterday it’d been pulled from the casket of Saint Seiros, pulsating and glowing in her hand. After the ambush in the Holy Mausoleum, Rhea, for some unknown reason, had allowed her to keep what she was constantly being told was the most powerful weapon in all of Fódlan. The Sword of the Creator, a divine weapon from the goddess herself. She didn’t know how to feel, lugging this sword around. Seteth had been very clear on sharing his displeasure in Rhea’s decision. His distrust in her was abundantly clear, and he’d made her so anxious that she carried the sword on her hip wherever she went. 

The anxiety also stemmed from the fact that Claude had watched her like a hawk since the sword had come into her possession, eyes glued to the jagged edge of her newly acquired weapon. He had once told her of an ancient Relic that had once cut a mountain in half with a single swing. According to the books she’d read, this was that weapon. 

_“Long story short, I’d like to try cutting a mountain in half one day.”_

She didn’t exactly know how she felt about that either, but something about it felt...off.

Byleth had dodged his every attempt to talk to her that night, shutting herself away in her room with books on the Hero’s Relics. Gifted to the Ten Elites, they were holy weapons wielded in the War of Heroes, and harboured tremendous power to those with compatible crests. She’d seen _Thunderbrand_ in action and while it was obviously stronger than the average steel sword, it was still wielded like one. While they housed undeniable power, it was like her father had always said. A weapon is only as strong as the person wielding it. 

“This sword is the stuff of legends,” she muses, holding it up under a stream of steady sunlight. “Why can I use it? Hanneman said that I have an unidentified crest. Crests are inherited through blood. So...do you have one? Did my mother have one? Dad, who am I? Who are _you_?”

Her father doesn’t reply, glaring at the sword as if it was the one asking questions. Coming to the monastery had forced Byleth to realize that she knew nearly nothing of the man she called her father. How much had he kept from her, and why? She’d learned more about him from the conversation with Lady Rhea.

He heaves a sigh, heavy with unspoken words and so much tension. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Byleth drops the sword onto her desk, scattering her lesson plans across the surface. “I just don’t get it,” she exhales, slumping back against her desk. “There are so many things that I just don’t understand. Rhea and Seteth have these high expectations for me, giving me a job that I couldn’t possibly qualify for. Giving me a legendary god sword that represents a religion I had no idea about. I’m just a mercenary. I’m not a noble, I’m not devout. Everything about me screams ‘out of place,’ but here I am. I’m a professor at the Officer’s Academy. I have a crest that allows me to wield the most powerful weapon in Fódlan, and without its crest stone— It should be impossi—”

Her words die in her throat when Jeralt wraps his arms around her, holding her against his chest. She’s confused at first, and when she tries to push away he only tightens his hold. “I know it’s hard.” He whispers into her hair. “I’m sorry.” She doesn’t know what he’s sorry for, but finds some sort of comfort in his words as she closes her eyes, listening to the familiar beat of his heart. “Just know that I’m looking for answers.”

Byleth inhales deeply, nodding against his chest. “Okay.” _Answers._

“Knock knock.” 

She pulls away from her father, and they both turn to see Hilda in the doorway of the classroom, waving. 

“I’ll uh, leave you to it, _Professor,_ ” Jeralt smiles, stalking out past Hilda, who skips into the classroom, dragging a sullen looking Marianne and grumbling Lysithea behind her.

Pushing down whatever had rattled her, Byleth senses that she’s about to be roped into something because Hilda has willingly entered their classroom on a _free day._ Sometimes, the pink-haired noble didn’t even come in on school days, having to be dragged out of bed by Claude for early morning training sessions.

She hasn’t been here long, but Byleth is well aware of just how dangerous that smile is. 

“Good morning, Professor,” Hilda hums innocently, plopping down on top of the corner of her desk. “Sorry to intrude on your father-daughter bonding moment. Everyone needs a hug once in a while!” Ah, so that’s what that display from her father was. _A hug._

Byleth decides that she likes hugs. 

“By the way, you’re looking totally gorgeous on this awfully humid summer day. You should see Ingrid’s hair. She looks like a bush!” 

Byleth sighs, sweeping her papers into a messy pile and levelling a flat gaze at Hilda. “If you’re here to ask for another extension on the tactics assignment- the answer is no.”

Hilda flicks her hair over her shoulder. “I wasn’t. Now that you mention it though-” 

“No. It’s on my desk on Monday or else you get a zero.” 

“Oh, fine,” she groans as Lysithea (who’d been the first one to hand the assignment in) rolls her eyes. “I did come here to ask for your help, actually. Lysithea said that you would definitely be on board.” 

“I suggested that we speak to the professor first,” the mage corrects impatiently. “In case she thinks our time might be better spent studying or training for next month’s mission. I heard that the Church is going to be sending us to the Kingdom again.”

“Depends on what you’re asking,” Byleth decides. If she wasn’t here to ask for an extension, then what could she possibly be here for?

Hilda clasps her hands together, bouncing up onto the balls of her feet. “Yay, okay! You know how Claude’s birthday was on Thursday?” 

“Yes,” she nods.

How could she have forgotten? It was then that they had shared their first cup of tea together, and she...didn’t mind his presence, if she were being honest. Tea was a foreign concept to her, and she’d never been keen on conversation. 

Conversation with Claude came easily to her. They had settled themselves into a routine of easy banter. He kept her on her toes with his prying questions, and she was there to match him each time with questions of her own. She genuinely _liked_ talking to Claude. 

But that was before she had obtained the Sword of the Creator, and Claude’s focus seemed to shift.

“Well,” Hilda continues, dragging Byleth out of her thoughts. “We didn’t really get to celebrate because it was a school night. So we’re planning a little feast for him in the dining hall. We just need you to distract him for about a half hour while we lay the food out and put up a few decorations.” 

“Okay,” she agrees. “I suppose a small party is suitable, since he’s house leader and all.” 

“How will you distract him, Professor?” Marianne asks quietly. 

Byleth has a few ideas. 

  
  


__________

  
  


Claude has been in many uncomfortable situations before, but none could compare to this. Teach silently fixes him with that intense gaze of hers. There were few who could withstand the heat of her stares without wanting to curl in on themselves. People either blushed or turned away, but Claude liked to hold his ground and stare right back, looking into the depths of those seemingly empty eyes in an attempt to find answers.

_Who are you, really?_

They stare for what seems like an eternity, the silence drowning out the sounds floating in from outside of the Golden Deer classroom. He has no idea how much time has passed when she finally speaks. “I’ve called you here today because there are some people in this room that aren’t getting along,” she says sternly. 

“Uh, Teach?” Claude asks, looking around. “Lorenz and I are the only ones here.” She’d come to retrieve him from his usual spot in the library, ignoring his pointed questions about her sword before dropping him into a seat across from his dour-looking classmate. 

“I am aware,” she replies coolly, crossing her ankles as she leans against her desk. “You two are to lead your houses, and in turn will be working together to lead the Alliance.” Claude casts a side look at Lorenz, only to receive a harsh glare in return. Yikes. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. 

“I don’t appreciate the way that you speak to one another. Lorenz, you’re oftentimes rude when speaking to your house leader.” Claude shoots him a triumphant smirk, revelling in the way that vein pops in his forehead as he scowls back. It was just too easy to get under his skin. “You too, Claude. You only strengthen his distrust in you when you offer him tea laced with stomach poison.”

“You _what?_ ” Lorenz gasps, and Claude rolls his eyes. Who did he think it was? Ignatz? “Of all the dastardly things—”

“Boys,” Teach warns in a low voice, fixing them both with an unsettling gaze. “Trust seems to be a clear issue between you two, and I won’t have it. Like it or not, you two are on the same team, and it’s about time you act like it. No more verbal jabs, no more mild poisonings, and no more disrespect.”

“But Teach—”

“Professor—”

She holds a hand up, silencing them both. “I want you both to say one nice thing about each other.” 

Claude casts her a questioning glance. _A nice thing about Lorenz?_ Oh dear him, wherever could he start? The choppy haircut? The noble snobbery of the highest decree? 

“Go on,” she encourages. “Neither of you are leaving here until I say, so get on with it.” Claude wasn’t too clear on what he’d done to deserve this.

Across from him, Lorenz doesn’t jump at the chance to sing his praises, so Claude takes a shot in the dark. “You have nice—” Hair? Teach wouldn’t like it if he lied. “Uh, writing. Very delicate.” 

Lorenz doesn’t thank him, but at least his scowl disappears. “Setting the bar a bit low but I’ll allow it,” Teach winces slightly. “Lorenz?” 

“Professor, this is hardly necessary,” he bristles, now glaring at Claude again. “I am perfectly capable of displaying civil behaviour towards my classmate-” 

“If you don’t reciprocate, I _will_ put you on stable duty together for a _month_.” 

“That’s just an abuse of power,” Claude laughs nervously. He really does not want to spend next month in the stables. He would be stuck in a closed, humid space scooping up horse turds and listening to Lorenz prattle on about his duties as a noble. “Lorenz, _please,_ ” he begs through gritted teeth. 

“Fine,” he groans, obviously not keen on spending time in the stables with him either. “Claude, I will admit that your recent handling of Margrave Edmund’s troop movement was...impressive,” he admits, clutching his abdomen as if speaking the words had made him sick. Claude’s brows flick up in surprise. To hear Lorenz compliment his political prowess was rarer than the birth of an albino wyvern. 

At the front of the room, Byleth tilts her head in acknowledgement, and Claude thinks he catches a flicker of amusement behind that stony gaze. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Now get on your feet both of you,” she instructs, her sword glowing when she places a hand on the hilt. Teach doesn’t even seem to realize it. 

It is, however, incentive enough for both of them to rise to their feet. Who were they to argue with the Sword of the Creator?

“Now give each other a hug.” 

“Whoa, Teach, no no no no no,” Claude sputters, stumbling back a few feet. Lorenz does the same, stuttering through some refusal of his own. “You want us to _hug_? You must be joking, Teach.” 

She blinks twice. “I’m not.” 

She’s not. 

Claude opens his arms, waving his classmate forward awkwardly. The sooner this is over the better. He’s not about to disobey her now, not when he has some very important questions to ask her. “Well, bring it in, Lord Gloucester. Try not to hug me too hard.”

Lorenz shoots one last pleading look at their professor, who reaches behind her and holds up her notebook. “I suppose I’ll pen you both in for stable duty then…”

Without warning, Claude launches himself into Lorenz’s arms, giving him a tight squeeze before he can even process the fact that he’s being hugged by _Lorenz Hellman Gloucester._ As Lorenz carefully wraps his arms around Claude’s waist, he peeks over his shoulder to see Teach watching them, a ghost of a smile flickering across her lips. 

Who knew his Teach was a sadist?

__________

  
  
  


They’re in the middle of their final trust exercise when Hilda announces her presence at the large oaken double doors of their classroom. 

“Professor, Claude, Lorenz!” 

Thankful for the distraction, Claude whirls around. “Hilda!” 

Lorenz hits the floor, landing flat on his back and releasing a string of unsavoury curses for a nobleman as Byleth scrambles to help him up. “Claude, you were supposed to catch him!” She scolds, helping Lorenz to his feet. 

“Sorry! I got distracted,” he apologizes, hoping she won’t put them on stable duty.

Hilda skips into the room, grabbing Claude by the wrist and tugging him along, ignoring the pointed glares behind them. “Claude here promised that we could have some lunch together,” she winks. A saviour isn’t always a knight atop a mighty steed donning shining armour. Sometimes it’s a pink-haired and pigtailed noble with saccharine sweetness and the grip of a falcon.

“So what’s on the menu today? Spice festival? Sweet-tooth week?” He asks as they head over to the dining hall. As they walk, he notices that the grounds are eerily quiet. There are no students chatting in the courtyard or lounging by the fishing pond. A little odd for a weekend, but then again he’d just hugged Lorenz, so anything was possible.

Hilda doesn’t answer, pushing the door to the dining hall open. 

“Surprise!” 

Hilda grabs his arm as he staggers back, bouncing excitedly. “Happy birthday!”

Claude scans the room, taking in the scene. There are a mix of gold and green streamers woven around the rafts and pillars of the dining hall. Paper confetti is strewn across the tabletops, and finally, a huge banner reading “Happy Birthday Claude!” in huge yellow letters. 

Everyone from the Academy is here. Dimitri and the Blue Lions, Edelgard and her Eagles. Even Seteth and Flayn are there, the latter waving a handmade pom-pom happily. Teach is here too (how she and Lorenz got here before them he doesn’t know) sandwiched between the excited pair of Ignatz and Lysithea. 

“Awe, you guys are a bunch of soft-hearted suckers,” he chuckles, accepting more hugs than he’s comfortable with as he’s all but passed around the room. It’s still odd to him how openly affectionate the people of Fodlan are. Hilda hangs onto his arm the entire arm, squeezing his bicep as she guides him from person to person. Manuela grabs his face in both her hands and plants a kiss in the middle of his forehead. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was lipstick staining his face. Raphael wraps him in a near bone-crushing hug, Alois ruffles his hair, and Annette shoves birthday cupcakes into his mouth. 

All things considered, it’s a nice affair. He’d never been thrown a surprise party before, and he didn’t find it half bad. The people of Faerghus, Adrestia, and the Alliance all gathered to celebrate _him._ Even Dimitri and Edelgard seemed to be enjoying themselves. It was a small step in the right direction.

Claude finds himself sitting outside on the steps descending from the dining hall. It turns out that combining the three houses of the Academy meant more socializing than even he could handle. It wasn’t that he was overwhelmed, he just needed a minute to soak it all in. The possibilities for the future.

“There you are.” 

He knows who it is before even turning around. “Teach, what are you doing out here?” 

She joins him on the step, sighing deeply and setting a small package in his lap. It’s wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine. “It wouldn’t be a proper birthday without a birthday present.” 

“For me?” He confirms, sitting up a little straighter. “Mind if I open it now? The curiosity is killing this cat.”

“Of course.”

Claude slides the twine off, eagerly tearing through the paper to reveal a slender box. He carefully removes the lid. 

“There’s a man in my father’s mercenary company,” she explains as he runs a hand over the fine Almyran silk. “His wife back home makes these beautiful head wraps.” 

“Teach,” he breathes, picking up the beautiful blue and yellow material. “I…Thank you, really. This is a wonderful gift.” It’s beyond wonderful, better than any book or board game. This was _him,_ and this was _home._

“You’re lucky to know where you come from,” she says, her voice soft as she places a hand on his knee. For some reason her hand was cold, despite it being the middle of summer. “And I think that it’s important that you have these reminders of who you are. My father said that leaving home is like losing a piece of yourself.”

“Jeralt said that, huh,” he murmurs. “Never thought I would have something in common with a descendent of the King of Liberation.”

She pulls her hand back into her own lap. “What?”

“You didn’t forget, did you? The story I told you about a Relic that could cut a mountain in half? That Relic was the-”

“The Sword of the Creator, I know,” she finishes, “Now what are you going on about? We are not his descendants.” 

Claude catches her voice wobble slightly, an unusual undulation in her usual monotone speech. “Don’t be coy, Teach. You know the deal with Relic and crests. The two go hand in hand, and it’s not hard to draw the conclusion here.” 

“Claude.” Her voice is low, and he recognizes the warning tone. He’s walking on some thin ice. “There are a lot of things I don’t understand here, believe me-” 

“ _Believe_ you?” He laughs, purposefully avoiding the hurt look she’d sending him. “You have to admit, there’s something pretty unbelievable about you. I don’t know what it is but there a lot of things that just don’t add up. By the way, ‘I don’t understand’ won’t cut it here.”

“What do you not believe, Claude?” She asks dryly, practically daring him to answer.

He knows he won’t get another chance like this. “Is Jeralt actually your father? You two look nothing alike, you know.” 

“He _is_ my father,” she says forcefully, and he sees a flicker of anger flash across her features, eyes ablaze as she narrows her eyes at him. “He raised me. He taught me how to use a sword, how to ride a horse, catch fish. He is my father and that will never change.” Claude swallows whatever argument he had prepared. He’d obviously struck a chord deep within her, but he was so intrigued by the display of emotion she’d just shown in a manner of minutes. “Don’t you dare bring him into this.”

“Teach, I’m- I’m sorry,” he apologizes. Perhaps he’d gone too far this time. He just hadn’t expected her to react so passionately. It was clear that she cared deeply for her father, as any daughter would. 

She heaves a sigh, shutting her eyes. “Look, there are a lot of things that I don’t understand either, okay? Neither does my father. He’s just- He’s-” 

“Okay,” he nods. “Okay, I believe you.”

There’s a terrible lull that follows when she doesn’t answer, and she scoots an inch away from him, crossing her arms over her chest and staring out at the pond. He wishes he could see what was going on in that brain of hers.

“I’ll take that as my cue to leave,” he decides, dusting off his pants as he stands, offering her a hand up. She takes it, letting him pull her to her feet. “In any case, thank you for the gift...it’s perfect.” 

He thinks she smiles, the corners of her lips twitching upwards for a fleeting single second. “I know,” she shrugs. “Put it to good use when the time is right, okay?” 

“Okay,” he promises. He will. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude: i wonder what she's thinking...so mysterious  
> Byleth: *elevator music*


	4. verdant rain moon

“Leonie, have you seen Teach anywhere?” Claude asks. He’d stopped by Captain Jeralt’s office to see if she were here, but Leonie seemed to be the only one present. Not really a surprise, she always seemed to be hanging around there. 

His classmate shakes her head. “No, but I did catch Captain Jeralt headed to the knight’s hall a couple minutes ago. He said he was looking for the professor. Why? Need help with something?” 

Claude holds up his notebook. “No, just wanted to see what I missed out on while I was gone,” he explains. “Guess I’ll head over there.” He’d just returned from his two day trip to Derdriu for the Roundtable conference. Listening to noble squabbles all day was mind-numbingly boring work, and he was dying to get back to Garreg Mach. Things had just gotten interesting when he’d left. 

“Mind if I walk with you?” Leonie requests as he turns to head downstairs. 

“Be my guest,” he shrugs, tucking his notebook under his arm. “How were things while I was gone? Did Lysithea convince Teach to assign extra homework on the weekend again?” It certainly wouldn’t be the first time, and if she had, Claude might be better off hiding in his room and pretending that he didn’t get the message.

Leonie snickers. “Surprisingly not. She tried, but the professor actually said no.” Claude’s smile falters momentarily. Teach  _ never _ said no to extra homework - she was sadistic like that - and she especially never said no to Lysithea. “Speaking of the professor, she seemed kind of quiet during class these last few days.” 

“Teach is always quiet, Leonie. You’re going to need to be more specific.”

“She hasn’t been out and about as much,” Leonie explains. “She cut open training hours short, and spends more time underground in that weird place where the Ashen Wolves classroom is.” 

Ah.

“I’ll talk to her,” he decides. It’s the least he could, as her self-proclaimed closest friend. 

“Please do. With all the new students joining our class, a few of us are concerned about the amount of training we’re missing out on.

He doesn’t find Jeralt in the knight’s hall, but he does find Catherine. “Captain Jeralt?” She huffs, swiping a bead of sweat from her forehead as she shakes out her sword arm. “He said something about visiting a grave. He left a couple of minutes ago.” 

That catches Claude’s attention. Jeralt was visiting a grave? Who did he know that was buried on monastery grounds? 

Unless…

No, he had to know...right? 

He thanks Catherine, leaving Leonie with her and speed-walking towards the graveyard. He slows to a stop when he sees a familiar shock of teal hair at the top of the stairs. Teach is here too. 

“Hey,” he greets, placing a hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t turn to look at or even acknowledge him, gaze unwavering as she stares ahead. Claude follows her line of sight, landing on her father sitting in front of a grave. 

“He thinks...he thinks my mother is buried there,” she mutters, lips trembling as she speaks. “He doesn’t know, Claude. He doesn’t know that his wife isn’t there- and that she never was.” 

They watch as Jeralt speaks animatedly, even hearing his boisterous laugh echo throughout the otherwise calm area.  _ He really doesn’t know _ . He doesn’t know that the corpse of his wife had been kept deep within Abyss, and that her body had remained in pristine condition, eerily untouched by time. He doesn’t know that a cardinal/secret admirer from the church had performed a blood experiment gone wrong in an attempt to resurrect her. That she had been absorbed into the body of an Umbral Beast.

He catches the way Teach’s jaw tightens, an easy indication of her frustration. He was getting a handle on interpreting her microexpressions these days. “Are you okay?” He asks gently, noticing that her hand is balled into a tight fist at her side. She’s angry, that much is obvious, but her eyes tell a different story. They’re clouded, dark. 

She’s sad. She feels bad for her father.

“Rhea didn’t tell him,” she muses quietly. “But I...I can’t bring myself to tell him either. He already…” Her eyes flicker over him briefly as she turns to face him, settling on his boots. 

“Already what?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly, and though it only serves to make him more suspicious, he senses that now isn’t the time. “He’s already made his peace with it. I’m afraid that telling him would only be counterproductive. He would get himself in some trouble.”

“But you’ll tell him eventually?”

She draws a shaky breath, squeezing her eyes shut. Claude couldn’t even begin to imagine how she was feeling. He’d left a day after the incidents in Abyss, and he hadn’t the opportunity to check in with her yet. 

“I’m just worried that if he finds out about Lady Rhea lying to him...he’ll do something stupid,” she mutters, kicking at some stray pebbles on the ground. “You know as well as I do what happens when someone threatens the Church. Or even worse, the Archbishop.”

Claude shudders slightly.  _ Death. _

“So you think Jeralt would harm Rhea?”

Byleth shakes her head slightly. “I don’t think he’d harm her. He might...he might…”

He hopes his expectant stare gets his message across, because if he pries again she may actually punch him in the face this time. 

She gestures for them to walk, and they start down the brick path towards the knight’s hall in silence. Once they’re definitely out of Jeralt’s earshot, she whispers to him in a low voice. “I heard something in the cathedral last month. There was a fire here, around twenty something years ago. My father went missing that day.” Claude had heard something like that too. 

“You think that Jeralt set the monastery on fire?”

Byleth looks around as they come to a stop at the empty stables. Claude thinks she looks nervous, but what for? “Again, I don’t know for sure. But what I do know is that there’s some deeper history between my father and the Church, something more than his years in service as a knight.”

“Jeralt doesn’t trust them,” Claude concludes for her. “Hm. Makes sense. Captain of the Knights is a cushy job, why would he have up and quit one day?” 

“He must have been scared of something,” she says, arms crossed over her chest. 

“Or someone,” he suggests. “Hey, Teach? Did you tell anyone else about this?”

“Just Yuri,” she replies, and Claude feels the faintest squeeze in his chest. “He’s been helping me a lot these last few days. The rest of the class seems to be taking to him very well, along with the rest of the wolves.”

“That’s great,” Claude grins, perhaps a little too wide. “Well, I’m here to help you now, Teach. We’ll get to the bottom of this together.” 

“I couldn’t ask you for that, Claude. You’re here to learn, not help me fix my...issues.” 

“No,” he says, grasping her shoulders. “If I’m being completely transparent, I’ve been snooping around a bit myself. If there’s something going on between the Church and your father, I’m bound to come across it eventually. Especially now that we have access to that library in Abyss. I’d gladly help you out.”    


Her expression lifts in the slightest, and he can feel the muscles in her shoulders relax. “Okay,” she nods. “Thank you, I really appreciate this. Just make sure your snooping doesn’t get in the way of your studies, alright?” 

“Speaking of my studies, I have some time right now, why don’t we head down to the training grounds for a quick bow lesson?” He vaguely remembered her asking him for pointers, and they’d spent a few lessons together going over the basics. “We can even chat further about...this.” 

Teach steps out of his grasp. “Ah, I’m alright actually. Yuri is quite proficient with a bow, and he gave me some great pointers the other day. You're still my student, and you should focus on bettering your own skills, Claude. Also, here.” She procures a few pieces of folded paper from her pocket, handing them to him. “Some notes on what you missed in class. I’ve been so swamped lately handling all the new transfers, but Yuri was nice enough to sit in and take some notes for you.” 

“Oh, um, tell him thanks for me.” Claude stares at her as he takes the papers, tucking them into his notebook. Last he remembered, they’d saved him from having the blood sucked out of him. Since when was Yuri so important, and why did Claude seem to care so much?

  
  


__________

  
  


He gets his answer two days later, in the form of a pink-haired gossip who loves nothing more than getting under his skin.

“What are you laughing about?” Claude grumbles as he picks at the vegetables on his plate. Across from him, Hilda snickers again and Claude can feel a headache starting to emerge behind his eyes. 

“Sorry, it’s just that Lysithea owes me a hundred gold,” she grins, biting her bottom lip in a poor attempt to keep her smile from growing.

“For what?” He looks up from his plate to see Hilda using her fork to point down the table to where Teach sits with the Ashen Wolves. She's nestled between Yuri and Constance, listening intently as Balthus loudly recounts a story from his days of wandering.

“You’re jealous,” she accuses, using her fork to stab a piece of carrot and pop it into her mouth. 

Claude feels annoyance throb continuously at the back of his head. “Of the Wolves? I don’t think so. Lack of sun exposure could have long-term effects on a person’s health. Vitamin D is important, and I’m used to getting plenty of it.” 

Hilda rolls her eyes. “No, not the Wolves plural, and their lack of sunlight. Just one wolf and his frequent appearances in said sunlight.” 

“Yuri?” Claude asks. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“Am I being ridiculous, Claude? Am I?” She asks, pretending to contemplate it. “Because I didn't even have to say his name, and you knew who I was talking about." Claude blushes despite his inane desire not to. "I think I know what’s going on here. You aren’t used to sharing.” 

“Sharing what?” 

“Not what, but  _ who.  _ You aren’t used to sharing your Teach,” she says simply, and as if on cue they watch as Yuri whispers in her ear, and her cheeks actually  _ flush.  _ “It must be weird for you, seeing her spending so much time with a different house leader.” 

“I’m still  _ her  _ house leader,” Claude corrects. “They joined our class.  _ My  _ class.”

“Relax,” she chuckles, reaching over and unfurling his hand. He hadn’t realized how tightly he was gripping his fork. “I’ve talked to the professor about it and I’m pretty sure there’s nothing going on between them. He even calls her ‘friend.’” 

Was he supposed to be comforted by that? Claude honestly couldn’t tell. “Teach isn’t interested in romance.” 

“Does that disappoint you?” 

“Why should it?” He shoots back, a little more defensively than he intended.

Hilda squints at him, and Claude has never seen her put so much focus into a single task. “Everyone else can see it, so I won’t make you say it. But I have a feeling you’ll understand someday.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hilda, who likes to be proven right, gives her 100G to Yuri, who just likes to push people's buttons. Especially Claude's.


	5. horsebow moon

Byleth’s days used to be the same. Predictable and utilitarian, marked by the rising and setting of the sun. She followed her father and his company to wherever they were needed and did whatever they needed to do to get paid. Then she would stretch out on her bedroll and sleep, only to wake and do it again the next morning. 

Her everyday tasks were performed out of bare necessity. Sleeping and eating provided energy and sustenance, training with her father kept her skills sharp and ensured she would live to see another day. Back then, Byleth didn’t remember having any particularly strong feelings about her life. She hadn’t for twenty something years. She didn’t hate it, didn’t love it. She woke, she followed, and then she slept.

Byleth looks up from her papers at the sound of three quick raps against the wood of her door. Ah, yes, the first indication of her new routine. She tucks her papers into a drawer, sweeping crumbs of her breakfast pastry off her top before opening her door. 

Felix stands outside, just like he has every Sunday morning since joining her class. He tilts his head towards the training grounds once, and lets out an exaggerated sigh when she turns back into her room to grab her things, already impatient and ready to trade swordblows. 

And so starts her day, a new normal she’d become accustomed to since settling into the monastery. She still rose with the sun - some habits were harder to shake than others - then grabbed a quick breakfast to eat while she marked assignments and drew up lesson plans. On the weekends, Felix would knock on her door and goad her into sparring with him. She’d give him two or three bouts (maybe one with her Relic) before giving a quick swordsmanship seminar to more than half the students in the monastery. 

The growing intensity of the training Byleth performed with her students exhausted her, and she would head off to eat lunch. On occasion she’d find herself donning an apron and wielding a spatula or a rolling pin. She would bake sweet buns with Lysithea or on hotter days make sorbet with Annette. When Yuri visited the topside they would roast pheasant, and when Ashe wandered in they would cook savoury meats. Then she could sit and reap the rewards, sharing meals with alternating sets of students. She and Ingrid would roll their eyes as Sylvain described his latest romantic escapade. Some days Byleth would do her best _not_ to roll her eyes as she listened to Hilda and Dorothea enter heated debates on whether all men were simps (simpletons?) or not. 

Once Byleth had her fill of food and conversation, she spent the rest of her afternoon visiting with her students. Seteth and Lady Rhea had stressed the importance of maintaining good relations with all, even those outside of her class. She took tea with Ferdinand, Constance, and Lorenz, listening to their eloquent speeches concerning the duties of the nobility. She hunted with Petra and Leonie, the three of them bringing back more game than even the monastery’s most experienced hunters. With Bernadetta and Ignatz she attempted with paint (albeit poorly) to recreate with them the beautiful landscapes surrounding Garreg Mach.

Four months into her time at Garreg Mach, Byleth’s daily routine - once predictable and utilitarian - had evolved. Though it maintained a neat and scheduled order, she found that there was more to just waking and following and sleeping. There was something about the ordered chaos of her new life that just _appealed_ to her. Nothing in her life had appealed to her this strongly before. Everyday was different. Felix might catch her off guard by handling his blade differently in comparison to the day before, utilising a new combat art he had just mastered. Maybe she would cook with Mercedes, or lunch with Catherine and Shamir, or maybe take tea with Marianne. Each day brought something new, and she found herself excited by just how unpredictable life could be. 

Sothis seemed to be having some fun too. Byleth’s head suffered no shortage of giggles and sarcastic comments at the expense of her students. The odd girl rolled in and out of Byleth’s head like the tide, oftentimes materializing out of nowhere to laugh hysterically at Claude’s practical jokes or mock Lorenz’s haughty personality. She would even push Byleth into poking around the monastery to watch the students interact with one another. Ever since they’d watched Felix fall into a hole in the middle of the woods, Sothis had developed an insatiable appetite for the drama that seemed to surround the students of the Officer’s Academy.

While unpredictability added some much needed spice to the monastery life, Byleth still took comfort in the things that were familiar. If Lady Rhea hadn’t sent her father out, they would do a spot of fishing before sharing dinner in his study to talk about their days. It wasn’t as often as she would have liked, but she’d found a new appreciation for her father, and the things he did for her. She considered herself lucky, as many students had damaged relationships with their own parental figures. Pressures of marriage and expectations of duty being among the most prevalent issues. Some didn’t even have fathers, lost to tragedy or simply time. Jeralt never pressured her into being someone she wasn’t, he never forced her to marry for money. Most importantly, he was here.

However, there was another steady constant in her new life; Claude. After dinner, she would brew a pot of their favourite tea and travel down to the library. Whether that was the one in Abyss or the one in Garreg Mach, she’d find him settled at a table surrounded by scraps of parchment and empty pots of ink. Sometimes they would enjoy each other’s company in silence, him reading books on whatever mystery he’d stuck his nose into that week as she read up on magic or marked assignments. 

Some days they would chat and not just debate over new tactics or battalion gambits. Whenever he noticed she was in a particularly good mood, Claude would engage her with more amicable topics. He would tell funny stories about his classmates, share his silly observations between the two other house leaders, pester her for stories from her mercenary days, or share in whatever interesting discovery he’d made that afternoon. When he wasn’t prying for information or accusing her of being related to one of the biggest bads in history, Byleth found that he was a rather pleasant conversationalist. He knew how to make a person comfortable, and how to get them settled into an easy exchange of give and take, even filling the awkward silences when she wasn’t sure of how to reciprocate. 

“Everyone is so excited,” she murmurs over her pile of lesson plans that night. Claude looks up from the tome he’s absorbed in and flashes her an amused half-smile. He’d been present when a jumble of her students had encircled her desk and asked her opinion on setting new goals. Marianne wanted to work on her reason magic, Leonie needed help with her bow skills. Flayn wanted to start flying lessons (she still needed to get Seteth’s permission first). 

It was getting a little difficult to keep track of, if she were being transparent. Their class had grown exponentially as students from the Black Eagles and Blue Lions alike had switched to the Golden Deer to study under her. Just yesterday Seteth had even allowed Flayn to join their growing class. 

Regardless of the mounting piles of papers to be marked and plans to be made, she and Claude had opened their arms to all. Her students, old and new, had approached her lessons with bright eyes and endless enthusiasm. With the Battle of the Eagle and Lion happening next month, her upcoming free days were filled to the brim with extra tutoring sessions and longer training hours. 

Byleth wasn’t alone though, because she had Claude. Like a true leader, he’d taken everyone under his wing. Whether from Faerghus or Brigid or Adrestia, Claude had happily accepted them into his class. Similar to herself, he stretched himself thin, helping her out where he could and making time for everyone. He helped Petra tame her wyvern, and gave Ashe pointers during target practice. When she was too busy, he even sparred with Felix when everyone else was too scared to point a sword in the scowling swordsman’s general direction.

“I think it’s because everyone knows we have a real chance at winning this thing,” Claude says. “Imagine; the Golden Deer emerging victorious in the revered Battle of the Eagle and Lion! We’re going to sweep every competition this year, Teach.”

“Only because you all are working so hard,” she points out, eyes skimming over their grades. “Almost all of you are at a B+ in your desired skills. By the end of the academic year, a lot of you will probably qualify for Master class certification exams.”

Claude reaches over a stack of books to grasp the teapot, his cup nearly overflowing as he refills it because he refuses to lift his gaze from the tome he’s still going over. “That’s because we have a great professor,” he grins. Byleth can’t help but smile at that, her chest swelling with pride. Lady Rhea, a woman of impossibly high standing, could compliment her left and right, but nothing compared to the feelings of validation that came with the genuine adoration from her students. It was nice to be sought out, and that they were comfortable enough to be able to come to her about things outside of the curriculum. 

It was another new thing that Byleth enjoyed. Teaching was like nothing she had ever experienced before. It’d been overwhelming at first, standing in front of these doe-eyed children and teaching them to kill. As the year progressed, she realized that it was more than that. She taught them how to be brave, and how to work with one another. She’d watched her students truly come to rely on one another, regardless of their status or if they had a crest. Byleth’s Golden Deer had turned into a melting pot of students from the Alliance, Faerghus, and Adrestia, working together to overcome whatever obstacle they faced. They’d reached out to her so eagerly, and Byleth felt like she was finally reaching back. 

“Whatcha smiling about now, Teach?” Claude asks, his own smiling widening as he sets the tome down, studying her face with those ever analytic eyes of his. 

“I don’t know,” she laughs, shaking her head slightly. “I just feel so...so…” she struggles to find the right word. How to describe such a euphoric feeling of…

“Content?” Claude offers. “Happy? You certainly seemed so yesterday.” 

“Yes,” Byleth agrees with a soft sigh as she crosses her arms over the surface of the table. “I feel content.” 

He reaches out and places a hand on her elbow, squeezing lightly. “That’s really good, Teach. I know you haven’t exactly had it easy up until now.”

She definitely hasn’t. Before arriving at the monastery, mercenaries didn’t have the most pristine of reputations. Even after putting that lifestyle on hold, everything that had happened in Abyss had shaken her. 

But she had people now. People that she could work through these things with and made her feel important and cared for. Her father helped more than he knew as he slowly opened up to her, telling her stories of her mother and his time as a Knight. From Lady Rhea’s constant fretting to the monastery gatekeeper’s bright greetings, the people of Garreg Mach and the Officer’s Academy had accepted her wholeheartedly.

Including Claude. He’d taken her in too. He’d helped her decipher proper classroom proceedings and navigate the battalion guild. Taught her how to haggle properly in the market. Burnt through candle after candle with her in the library, helping her look for answers. 

“Neither have you,” Byleth points out, placing a hand over his. He’d told her of his childhood, filled with fear and oppression. He was still very much that same child, one yearning for the acceptance he lacked in his youth. His hand is warm and she feels a comforting warmth bloom in her palm, like white magic but better. “But you’ve helped me so much, and I’ve truly come to rely on you. I hope I can do the same for you someday.”

His eyes sparkle with something unknown to her, something other than his natural shine of curiosity. “I think I may hold you to that. Us outsiders have to stick together, right?”

“I don’t see you as an outsider, Claude,” she reminds him. “You’re more than that. You’re my friend.” He really was. Sure, he was nosier than most friends would be, and sometimes he got under her skin in a way no one has before. But once she drew her line, he respectfully withdrew. He cracked jokes that made her laugh, went out of his way to help her, and she found that she thoroughly enjoyed his presence. 

He smiles at that— a real smile that lifts his entire visage and makes her smile too. It’s just so damn contagious. “Thanks, Teach. Can I tell you something, friend to friend?”

“Anything,” Byleth nods.

He hesitates, and she isn’t sure if it’s a trick of the flickering candlelight or if she actually catches him blushing. “I think...you have a really pretty smile.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth says goodnight to Jeralt, who tears up a little because the last time he saw that smile was on Sitri’s face when he told her he loved her. 
> 
> (he also starts sharpening his lance)


	6. wyvern moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude & Jeralt - the support scene we were robbed of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind words. Your comments make my days so so bright, and I truly appreciate each one.

Back in Almyra, Claude hadn’t had it easy - outsiders rarely did. He’d been the intended target of hidden daggers, had his food and drink laced with poisons, was left in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a hunting knife and his wits as a means for survival. He’s even gotten in the way of an angry wyvern or two. 

The point was that he’d been in _much_ worse situations than his current one, so Claude isn’t sure why he was so scared now. Coming down from the pleasant haze of his victory-induced food coma had dulled his state of perceptiveness, and in this sensitive state he wasn’t able to get a proper read on the situation at hand. 

Was it the fact that he was sitting in the office of the strongest knight to ever have lived and the captain of the Knights of Seiros? Or was it the fact that he was sitting in the office of the legendary mercenary known as the Blade Breaker, who wanted to talk to him? 

Unfortunately for Claude, it was both. Rolled into the pleasant package of one Jeralt Eisner, who sat in his chair looking down the bridge of his nose at him, idly twirling a dagger between his fingers. 

Now Claude wasn’t an easily intimidated individual - it took a lot to get under his skin and make him uncomfortable. This was completely unexplored territory, and for once he didn’t have a plan of attack. When he wasn’t out on assignment, Captain Jeralt never spoke one-on-one with the students (Leonie didn’t count, she stuck to the man like a leech) and he moved around the monastery like a ghost. One simply never caught Captain Jeralt alone, and if you found yourself in his path, you moved. 

It wasn’t that the Captain had a mean streak or was especially unpleasant to be around. The Knights and the monastery faculty spoke highly of him and his gruff but genuine kindness. What drove people back was the pedestal that he was held upon. There were few people in Fódlan who _hadn’t_ heard tales of the man. The devout knew him through his service of the Church, and the non-believers knew the stories of a towering mercenary with the strength to shatter swords. Who would dare stand in the way of a man like that?

Again, that was unfortunately Claude. A trembling deer in the path of a wolf. 

“Captain?” He asks, his voice coming out more strained than he would have liked. “You wanted to talk to me?” At least that was what Claude was assuming. After the celebratory feast and his little nap, Jeralt had arrived at the Golden Deer classroom, beckoning him with the nod of his head. Teach didn’t seem to know what it was about, waving him off and telling him to use his mind bowl carefully. 

Jeralt’s motions cease, the handle of the dagger gripped in his hand. “Yes. I wanted to congratulate you on your win this afternoon. Must feel good, winning a battle whose title pushes your house’s name aside.” 

“Ah,” Claude says, nervously tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. “Thank you. It feels pretty great. We couldn’t have done it without Teach. She’s just— well, she’s great, sir.”

Something in Jeralt’s gaze hardens and Claude swears the temperature in the room drops two degrees. “I know,” he replies.

There’s a pregnant pause that follows, and Claude finds that he can’t seem to sit still. He’s fidgeting, something he’d done as a child when he was nervous. Jeralt’s eyes pierce through him like shrapnel, tearing away at the defences he’s worked so hard to build. 

Jeralt leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he stares. Claude thinks it’s funny, how similar yet different his gaze is from his daughter’s. While both were stubbornly intense and unashamed, Teach’s stare was blank in comparison to Jeralt’s. Her father was wary - he had the stare of a man who’d once been swindled and lied to, and wasn’t about to let it happen again _._ “Do you know how old I am, kid?”

“No,” Claude answers cautiously, “but if it’s any consolation, you don’t look a day over thirty-five, sir.” He really doesn’t, which is strange because the tales of the Blade Breaker date back to various decades.

Jeralt laughs appreciatively and Claude relaxes a little, though his shoulders stay rigid as he watches Jeralt lean forward, setting the dagger on the desk, his elbows resting on either side of it as he continues. “Awfully generous of you, but I’ve been around a little longer than you think,” he says, eyes narrowing. “In my time, I’ve travelled all of Fódlan and the lands beyond. From Sreng to Morfis to... _Almyra_.” 

There’s something about the way he says that last one that makes Claude’s blood go cold. It isn’t because he’s shocked - if Teach could tell, surely Jeralt could too. It’s because he knows that Jeralt is baiting him. The man is like a wolf, lying in wait and ready to pounce. Claude feels like the prey— he’s the deer that’s seconds away from having sharpened fangs close around his throat. “You’re well travelled, sir,” he manages to get out.

“I am,” Jeralt shrugs, “but that isn’t my point. Well, not today at least.” 

Claude swallows thickly. Not today? There was going to be another day? “Then what is your point, Captain?”

“My point is that during my travels I’ve made contact with a lot of different personalities. I’ve entered many contracts with nobles, and it’s made me pretty well versed on the game you people play in pursuit of power.” Claude bristles at the condescending use of ‘you people,’ he’s never liked being lumped in with the noble crowd.

“Most of them have obvious intentions, I can read those like a book.” Those hardened eyes burn holes through Claude’s skull, violating the confines of his mind. “I’ve had my eye on you, and I can see that you’re different. You aren’t like the other nobles of the Alliance. They’re too direct, too easy to read. You though...you step back, you look at all the pieces on your board and you set up for the long game. Tell me — am I right, Claude?” 

Claude shifts in his seat. Never before has someone called him out like this. Normally it’d be refreshing, speaking to someone as shrewd as he was. But this was Captain Jeralt, so it was bordering on terrifying. “I don’t believe I follow, sir,” he lies. 

Jeralt grins, and Claude knows that he’s walked into the trap now. The teeth are closing in. “See, that’s what I mean. You’re perfectly fine playing the fool, and you _let_ people underestimate you, so they write you off as some aloof kid who likes practical jokes and poisons his classmates for fun.” 

He feels his cheeks warm. Jeralt really had been watching him. “They’re mild poisonings sir-”

“Yeah,” Jeralt waves off, “mild, slow acting poisons that have a delayed effect on their intended target. You’re always thinking five steps ahead, huh?” 

Claude inhales deeply, honestly a little unsettled on how well Jeralt has read him. Usually it’s the other way around. “I wouldn’t say five steps exactly…”

Jeralt huffs, an impatient sound that Claude interprets as ‘I don’t care,’ so he clamps his mouth shut. “So now that I’ve established how well I see through your act, can we agree to skip past the part where you try to lie to me again when I ask you a question?” 

“I promise, sir,” Claude swears, but it tastes like a lie as it rolls off his tongue.

“My daughter,” Jeralt says, and Claude’s heart skips a beat. Is _that_ what this was about? He didn’t take Jeralt as the type to threaten potential suitors in his defence of his daughter’s honour. Wait a minute- did Jeralt think that _he_ was a potential suitor? “Your _Teach._ She isn’t like you and me,” he states, sending Claude into a spiral of confusion again. 

“Er...How so, sir?” 

He sighs, long and heavy. “You’ve seen her on the battlefield. Not as much as I have, but enough to know that she’s a real professional. She’s good at what she does, and I know that because I trained her myself. That kid knows her way around a blade and a battle better than any seasoned general or commanding officer I’ve ever worked with. Hell, she’s taken a gaggle of inexperienced brats and turned them into real fighters in the short time that we’ve been here.” 

“She’s very experienced, and it’s benefitted the Golden Deer greatly,” Claude agrees. He couldn’t find anything in Jeralt’s statement to disagree with. Their class was learning at a level beyond the other two, winning more battles and tournaments than both classes combined.

“So it has,” Jeralt nods. “She’s very fond of you all. Talks about you guys all the time, probably more than I care for, but it’s interesting to listen to the way her voice changes when she talks about her students — namely you.” Claude feels the corners of his lips twitch upwards, but fights to keep his face neutral. She talks about him.

“My daughter has changed a lot in the time we’ve been here,” Jeralt adds. “I’m glad for it, of course. She wasn’t like other kids, she didn’t feel as...easily as they did. Before last month I’d never seen her smile, believe it or not.” Claude definitely believes that. Teach had come here with the emotionally expressive range of a rock. “I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that this change is in large part due to you.” 

“I don’t think I can take all the credit, we’ve all done our part in making her feel welcome,” he clarifies. The class as a whole had taken it upon themselves to make sure she knew that she belonged. 

“That’s true enough I suppose, but she doesn’t spend as much time with them as she does you,” he points out. “And you don’t watch your classmates as much as you watch her.” 

Claude thought he knew embarrassing, but being caught people-watching by his professor’s father...that took embarrassment to a whole new level. 

“I...I,” He’s floundering and though it’s an unusual feeling, he knows it. “I swear it’s not what it looks like, sir.” 

Jeralt raises a brow, an amused smirk on his face. “Oh? Because ever since she pulled that damn Hero’s Relic out of the casket, you’ve glued yourself to her side.”

Claude blinks a few times. Okay, maybe it was exactly what it looked like.

Jeralt rubs his temples. “Listen, kid, I like you. Mostly because my kid likes you, but I want to — no, I need to know something.” Claude watches as he picks up the dagger, holding it up in the candlelight. “This is the part where you don’t lie to me, by the way. If you lie to me I will know.”

The tip of the blade is casually levelled with Claude’s throat. Message received. 

“What are your intentions with my daughter?”

Claude’s mouth feels dry, his tongue like sandpaper. “Sir?” 

Jeralt rolls his eyes. “It may not seem like it, but my daughter is naive to an extent. I handled everything when we were on the road and because of that, she isn’t as...socially adept as others. She doesn’t know the difference between a friend and someone getting close to her to use her.” Claude releases a shaky breath, averting his gaze to the floor. 

But Jeralt isn’t finished. “I didn’t want to come here, you know. Because I knew that this would all be new to her, and that her naivete makes her too trusting. Too blind to see this place for what it really is. It’s filled with people that will use, hurt, and lie to her. So tell me, Claude. Are you really friends with my daughter, or are you after a Hero’s Relic that can cut a mountain in half?” 

Claude doesn’t answer. He can’t bring himself to. The accusation stings, it really does, and he feels the hurt deep in his chest as it wraps around his heart and squeezes. “That may have been true at one point…” he admits quietly. “Things are different now though, and I swear to you that I would never force her to do anything for me. I would never manipulate her or hurt her. I truly have come to see her as my friend, and I’m grateful that she calls me one too.” 

Jeralt stares at him again, wariness written on his every feature and Claude knows why now. It wasn’t just because _Jeralt_ was swindled and lied to. It was because he didn’t want his daughter to be. He was still a father, first and foremost. 

“I want to believe you, I really do, but I don’t know how,” he sighs. “In that case I need you to-”

“She doesn’t like her birthday,” Claude blurts out, gripping the arms of his chair. Jeralt doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t stop him either so he continues. “She doesn’t like it because you drink a lot and you get sad, and you cry when you think she’s sleeping.” She’d told him that on her birthday, when he’d asked if she’d ever celebrated it properly before.

“I...didn’t know that,” Jeralt breathes, his whole face falling, shoulders slumping slightly. 

“Her favourite colour is blue - because it reminds her of the sky. Clear blue in the day, when you would point out different birds to her, and dark blue at night, when you would lay beside her and tell her the stories behind the constellations.” She’d told him that late one night, when they were walking back from the library and staring up at the night sky.

Jeralt is quiet now, staring at his hands. 

“When she was little she used to get queasy around blood, but she pretended not to be after the first time she killed someone. She didn’t want you to worry about her.” It was one of the first things she’d told him, while they were walking back to the monastery from Zanado.

“I knew it,” Jeralt mutters. 

“I know that I come off as distrustful and a schemer, and you’re not wrong to think that,” Claude acknowledges. “Sometimes I forget that the pieces on the board are people, and I can be a little insensitive. To me Teach is...she’s more than a piece. If I truly intended on treating her like a pawn to be sacrificed in order to further my own goal...I would never have let myself get this close to her. To know these intimate secrets of her life. You say she’s changed, but I really think that I have too. We bring out the best in each other, Byleth and I.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name out loud, and he’s surprised by how naturally it comes. 

A few beats of silence pass between them as Jeralt considers his words and Claude feels the ache in his chest begin to subside. Despite himself, he wanted the man’s approval. To prove that he was somewhat worthy of finding an ally in who could potentially be one the most influential people one day. 

“Okay,” Jeralt finally agrees. “I believe you.” Claude breathes a huge sigh of relief. The past few minutes have been the longest of his life, and the entire time he’d felt as if a fully grown wyvern had been sitting on his chest. Even Jeralt leans back in his chair, his posture a tad more relaxed. 

“I don’t know what my daughter will decide to do when you graduate but if you have any pull on her decision, and I know you will, all I ask is that you continue to treat her with respect.” Claude watches as he carefully sets the dagger on the desk, tip of the blade pointed towards him again. “If she ever tells me that you’ve done something that she doesn’t like. I don’t care who you are. sovereign duke, prince, I will personally-” 

“Dad.”

Both Jeralt and Claude straighten, turning towards the door of his study to see Teach leaning against the doorway, eyes flicking between the two of them with what he thinks is amusement.

“By,” Jeralt laughs, suddenly all smiles as Claude sends her a small wave. “What brings you here?”

She pushes off the doorframe. “I came to make sure my house leader was still alive. You’ve had him here for a while and he’s needed downstairs.”

“Well, he’s all yours,” Jeralt grins, waving him off as he casually slips the dagger out of sight. “Congrats again on the win, Professor.” 

“Thanks, Dad. Couldn’t have done it without the students,” she smiles softly as Claude bids the captain a quick goodbye and all but vacates his chair and exits the room. 

Claude hears her jog to catch up with him, appearing at his side as he slows to a more casual pace “So what’d I save you from in there?” She questions curiously. 

“Ah, nothing really,” he laughs lightly, clasping his hands behind his back to hide their slight tremble. “Your dad just wanted to personally congratulate me on our win.” 

“Oh?” She says unbelievingly, raising a brow. “That’s nice of him.” 

Claude hums in reply, and they walk down the stairs in comfortable silence. “Hey, Teach, can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

“When we graduate, what will you do? Do you plan on staying here or is it a one-year contract kind of deal?” Claude isn’t sure if he’s ready for an answer, but he asks anyways. 

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly, and the speed of her answer tells him that she’s probably thought about it before. “Ever since this came into my possession, I have a feeling that Lady Rhea and Seteth wouldn’t be too keen on me parading it around Fódlan out of their employ,” she sighs, patting the handle of her Relic. 

It’s true, and Claude knows it as well as she does. “If you do have to stay here...then I’ll have all the more reason to visit.”

“I’d like that,” she grins, nudging him slightly. “Although Seteth might not be too happy with that.”

“Hey, I’m totally pleasant to be around! Seteth loves me!” 

“I’m sure he does,” she scoffs, patting his arm.

“Anyways, if you decide that isn’t something you want...you know you’ll always have a place in Derdriu with me,” he offers, hoping his cheeks aren’t as flushed as he thinks. 

She stops, grasping his arm as she turns to face him. “Wait, seriously? You can just...do that?”

“Well my grandfather is probably going to be kicking the bucket in the next year or so, and that would leave yours truly in charge. If I can command an entire country, then I can make room in my service for you. Whatever you want,” he assures her, all too aware of the smile that’s taking over his face. “Even if what you want is to sit on Derdriu’s docks and fish all day, then I’d make you the official fishing...person.” 

“Why would you do that for me?” She asks, and though she’s still smiling, he senses the hint of suspicion lacing her words.

“I do distinctly remember you swearing your allegiance to the Leicester Alliance when we first met,” he reminds her. He’d never forget the looks of disappointment on Dimitri and Edelgard’s faces. “Ring any bells?” 

They continue walking again, stepping out of the hall and into the brisk autumn breeze. “Ah, holding me to my word I see?” 

“Not exactly. It’s more of an open invitation,” he clarifies. “Don’t let me or Lady Rhea or anyone influence what you do after this. It’s your life, Teach, live it well. I’m just saying that if what you want is to come to Derdriu then...you’re always welcome to do so. Just because you swore your allegiance to us that night doesn’t mean anything, really. You aren’t bound to me in any way. If you’d rather go back to being a mercenary or decide to keep being a Teach, then I’ll send plenty of contracts or prospective students your way.” 

“That’s very grown up of you,” she teases lightly, reaching up to pinch his cheek. “To be honest, ever since coming here, it’s kind of made me want to travel. Not just for contracts and fighting but...just to see. To experience. I never realized how much I’d missed out on before. It’s like...I was sleepwalking through life and I’ve finally woken up. I want to see the northern lights during winter in Gautier, learn magic in Morfis, swim at beaches in Brigid. And...I’ve always liked Almyra,” she admits. “But I can’t recall the last time I went there all that well so maybe...you could show me around someday?” 

There’s that damn feeling again, that feeling that he's completely comfortable and makes him believe for a second that everything is okay, instigated by that light tug on his heart that fights to draw her close to him. For now he smiles, a real smile that isn’t meant to hide anything or disarm her. “I think I’d really like that, my friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt, watching as Claude and Byleth fall in love without either of them realizing it: In my 100+ years of life this is it. This is what is going to kill me.


	7. red wolf moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... don't ask me what this is. i honestly don't know.  
> (but I love Dark Flier Byleth)

Byleth knew that the Divine Pulse only had a limited amount of uses. What that limited amount was she didn’t know exactly, but as of yesterday she was too afraid to go past seven. In Remire, it’d been one time each for Marianne, Lorenz, Lysithea and Hilda. The other three times were for Claude, who in an attempt to save his classmates had fallen on the hellish scythe of the Death Knight more times than Byleth could stomach. 

So she’d pushed herself, and after a combined seven pulses she’d nearly lost consciousness, staggering on her feet and praying that she wouldn’t have to do it again. Luckily her father had her back, pushing the Sword of the Creator into her hand, helping her defeat Solon and sending the Death Knight packing before he could kill anyone else.

As harrowing as the experience was, Byleth knew without a shadow of a doubt that if need be, she would do it again. Seeing her students alive and well was worth the splitting headache and bouts of vertigo.

She would do it because she _hated_ seeing them die. As a professor, it was her job to take any steps necessary to keep them safe.

“A Dark Flier, huh?” Claude chuckles, setting her new certificate on the table. Byleth nods, quietly sipping from her teacup as Claude shoots her a surprised look. “I didn’t know you were interested in flying, or even magic.”

She wasn’t really, but she was useless with an axe and nowhere near good enough with a lance to pass wyvern or pegasus certifications. “Rhea’s been helping me out with reason, and for a while I’ve been attending regular flying lessons with Seteth to better instruct you and the other fliers in our class,” she explains, setting her cup down gently. Byleth hadn’t much experience in aerial combat, but she’d been more than willing to learn. The monastery had provided her with the means to try tons of new things, and Byleth intended to take advantage of every single one of them.

Faculty training was one way to do that. Due to her distinct lack of magic knowledge, Rhea had insisted on giving her weekly lessons in magic. Sometimes Byleth found it odd how willing the Archbishop was to spend time with her, but who was she to refuse magic lessons from one of the most powerful magic wielders in Fódlan. Sure the extra lessons didn’t hurt, but there was something about the way Rhea looked at her during these lessons that put her off. There was so much longing in the Archbishops gaze.

Byleth guessed it had to do with her mother.

But Rhea had dodged her attempts to ask too many times, so she found it was better to focus on her students instead. “After the chaos in Remire yesterday, I realized that looking out for you all would be much easier from the skies. So today I took a shot at the certification and I actually passed,” she shrugs casually, as if she hadn’t almost burnt her hand with a spell during the test.

“So you’re really going to switch to magic?” Claude asks, picking up a scone and inspecting it closely. Lysithea had allowed Flayn to help her bake today, so everyone was rightfully suspicious about eating the pastries. “No offence or anything Teach, but I don’t think your magic is as strong as Constance’s. You’d probably tire yourself out faster than usual with all the magic you’d be using.”

A fair point. While it took Constance or Lysithea a single blast of magic to rout an opponent, it took Byleth two. Like any good soldier, she knew when to acknowledge her weaknesses. “I know,” Byleth hums as she takes a bite out of a croissant, doing her best to swallow the clumpy flakes of dough. “That’s why I’ll be using a bow.” 

It’s unusual for Byleth to see her house leader surprised, but Claude does seem taken aback by this, brows flicking up as he sends her that sneaky smile of his. “A bow? Teach, don’t tell me you’re switching to the bow to get to know me better,” he teases, and Byleth rolls her eyes, tossing a chunk of croissant at him. “What?” He laughs, dodging the flying pastry. “Admit it, all the talk of you joining me in Derdriu suddenly made you _very_ attracted to the Leicester style of archery.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snorts, waving a hand at him. “Flying gives me advantageous and extended movement throughout the field. You’re right, magic is not my strong suit, but I will still use it as I sit fit. While I am not a top-rank flier, pegasi also happen to not be as agile as a falicorn or wyvern, so I’ve decided to equip myself with a bow and arrows to keep safe distance myself. I simply made the appropriate call.”

Claude doesn’t say anything, simply sitting with his elbow on the table, chin resting on his hand. Byleth kicks him under the table, and he startles. “Oh, sorry, I just found out that I could sleep with my eyes open.” 

“Brat,” Byleth mutters under her breath as he chokes on his laughter. “Actually,” she pauses, flicking a stray leaf off the table. “Your style of archery is really different from Ignatz or Leonie’s,” she realizes, thinking back to their last few battles. The way he held his bow, nocked his arrows. “It’s...not Leicester at all. So who taught you?” It had to be someone in Almyra. Byleth vaguely remembered her father mentioning that the Almyran’s were known to wield bows from wyvernback.

“Teach,” he chides with that lopsided grin of his, leaning back in his seat. “I know I tell you a lot of things, but I can’t tell you everything. What’s life without a little bit of mystery?” He says, green eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Fine, keep your secrets, Claude,” Byleth sighs, sweeping crumbs off her skirt and gathering her things. “Anyways, I have to go. Manuela asked me to give a swordsmanship seminar to the Black Eagles before lunch. By the way, I won’t be able to make it to the library tonight, I’m meeting a friend.” 

She makes it five steps away from the table when she hears teacups rattling, turning to see Claude stumble after her. “Wait, Teach! A friend? Who?” 

Her brows draw together as she takes in his frown, an uncommon expression on his face. He really was curious. “You know him,” Byleth shrugs. “Tall, dark, handsome. Very strong.” 

“That’s half the monastery!” He sputters, gaping at her. “Come on, Teach, tell me. I thought I was your friend,” he insists. 

She gestures for him to come closer, and he leans for her to whisper in his ear. “What’s life without a little bit of mystery?”

__________

  
  


“Claude, I was wondering if you wanted to help me- hey, what are you writing?” Hilda questions loudly, peeking over his shoulder. 

“A list,” Claude answers, underlining the final bullet point. “Apparently Teach is skipping out on our library time to canoodle with some tall, dark, and handsome individual.” He was just doing his due diligence as house leader. If Teach was canoodling, he had to know who it was with, to make sure he wasn’t just some dud trying to take advantage of her. Or some criminal trying to get his hands on the Sword of the Creator. “I need to figure out who.”

He doesn’t have to look up to know that Hilda is making a face at him. “First of all, canoodling? The professor is _not_ one of those people. People with resting bitch face don’t ‘canoodle.’” Hilda scoffs. “Second of all, you call this a list?” She drops herself onto the bench beside him, snatching the list out of his hands and ignoring his protests. “This is a piece of paper with Yuri’s name on it.” 

Claude makes a grab for his list, but Hilda sticks her arm out, waving it just out of his reach. For someone so lazy, she sure put a lot of effort into being annoying. “He’s the prime suspect! Have you heard the way he talks to her? ‘ _Hey, friend, there you go being adorable again, so cute,’_ ” he mocks, but hopes that Yuri isn’t anywhere within earshot.

“Give me that,” Hilda mutters, stealing the quill from his hand. She places the paper on his back, ignoring his protests as she scribbles something on his list. “Here,” she announces, slapping it onto the table. “A real list to satiate your jealousy induced curiosity.” 

“Oh, h- hold up,” Claude stutters before he has a chance to glance at his new list, whipping his head around to face his annoying friend. Jealous? Him? “I am not jealous. I just want to make sure we know for sure that whoever this friend of hers is a good person. I mean, she must find them pretty important if she’s willing to push our time aside.” 

Hilda stares at him now. Not in the bored, uninterested stare to get him to shut up, or the sappy puppy-dog eyes that she uses to get out of work. No, she’s _scrutinizing_ him, and he doesn’t enjoy being the subject of her attention one bit. “By the goddess,” she gasps, her mouth falling open. “You’re feeling threatened. You’re scared that the professor might be pushing you aside for a new favourite.”

“Hilda, _I am just_ -”

“Concerned for her safety, yeah, yeah,” she dismisses, sauntering towards the door of their classroom, even ten feet away from him, Claude can sense the smug attitude wafting over her shoulder. “Just take a look at that list, alright?” 

__________

  
  


“Hey,” Sylvain greets both Hilda and Dorothea, setting his tray of food down beside his classmates. Hilda hums in reply, trying to peek around him. Dorothea does the same, not taking her eyes off the scene playing out in front of them. “Okay,” he says slowly, looking between the two women. “I’ve been here for forty-five seconds and nobody has insulted my manhood yet so...what are we looking at?”

“That,” Hilda points, and Sylvain follows her gaze down the table. His eyes land on Yuri and the professor eating lunch together. It’s not an unusual sight. Their professor always eats lunch with her students. 

“So?” He asks, digging into his lunch.

“We’re betting,” Dorothea explains, patting the pile of gold coins laying on the table. Huh. He hadn’t noticed those before. “Hilda thinks that Claude is going to come in here and challenge Yuri to a duel.” 

“A duel?” Sylvain repeats, looking back at the pair casually chatting over a meal. “I want in on this action,” he decides, slapping down some extra coins. “I say he does it.” Well, Sylvain hopes he does. He could use some extra gold to get a nicer bouquet of flowers for his date tonight.

Both women suddenly straighten, and Hilda swats him the arm. “Shut up, by the goddess shut up. He’s here.” 

The three of them watch as Claude enters the room, grabbing an apple and taking a larger than normal bite. “Come on,” Hilda urges quietly, grabbing Sylvain’s arm when Claude stops and backpedals, sending the lunching couple a wave before continuing on his way, walking straight out the door.

“Ha!” Dorothea claps as Hilda groans loudly. “Your money is mine, Goneril. Claude isn’t the type of man to start a physical altercation over a girl.” 

“I don’t get it,” she sighs, scratching her head. “I really thought that he would do it.”

Sylvain cocks his head. “Wait, that’s what this is? Claude is jealous of someone?”

Hilda fixes him with that unamused glance of hers. “Have you seen the way he follows the professor around? He’s like a duckling that’s imprinted on her.” 

“Doesn’t mean he would start a physical altercation over her,” Dorothea points out. “Sylvain, would you fight over a woman?” 

Sylvain contemplates this. Would he? “Depends on the—”

“He’s back!” Hilda squeals suddenly, and Sylvain looks to the entrance of the dining hall just in time to see the Golden Deer’s house leader re-enter the room. He’s got a bucket in hand, and is headed straight for the professor. 

“Teach!” They hear him exclaim loudly, making the professor jump as he drops the leaking bucket between her and Yuri. “And...Yuri,” he greets a little flatly. 

“Claude,” they both acknowledge. 

“Funny seeing you both here,” he continues, and both women beside Sylvain roll their eyes. “Anyways, I just happened upon this huge bucket of herring bait, and I have no idea what to do with it,” he sighs dramatically. Sylvain can’t help but chuckle. As cunning as the future duke may be, when it came to girls he was...less than apt.

“I can help you offload some of it,” the professor volunteers, and Sylvain’s jaw drops. _That worked?_

Claude’s entire face lights up. “Really?”

The professor grabs the bucket, taking a peek inside. “Absolutely,” she grins. “My father is back, and I promised to take him fishing so thank you, Claude!” 

“Ouch, pushed aside for dad,” Hilda winces as the professor swiftly makes her exit, swinging the bucket of fish bait excitedly and leaving behind a stunned Claude with an amused looking Yuri.

“That’s gotta sting,” Dorothea agrees. “But technically he never fought anyone so…” she reaches for the coins again, but Hilda slaps her hand away. “Hey! I just did my nails!”

“There are still two more people on his list,” Hilda explains, pulling out a velvet coin pouch. “Double or nothing?”

_Teach's New Friend (?)_

  * ~~_Yuri (handsome)_~~
  * ~~~~_Felix (dark)_
  * _Sylvain (tall)_



**__________**

  
  
  


When the professor and Felix were sparring, no one dared to get in the way. The professor’s raw strength pushing against a major Crest of Fraldarius led to many broken training swords, so it was best to keep a safe distance to avoid the splinters of wood flying about. Plus, interrupting meant being the subject of Felix’s menacing scowl and less than pleasant remarks. Who would want that?

“Teach!” 

From her spot against a pillar, Hilda sighs. She liked Claude, she really did, but it was _so hard_ to keep him alive sometimes.

“What do you need, Claude?” The professor grits out, muscles and voice straining as she and Felix catch each other’s blades, pushing against each other. 

Beside Hilda, Marianne flinches at Claude’s louder than necessary laugh. “It’s not a question of what I need, my dear Teach, but what you need,” he says, placing a hand on her shoulder as she and Felix shove each other back with a final push, the latter staggering backwards. “You’ve been looking a little pale lately, and I think it’s because you’ve been working so hard.”

“Get to the point, Claude,” she replies impatiently, sparks of fire flickering on her palm, intended for Felix. Yet another reason why people didn’t bother them during a spar. However, Claude jumps between them like the idiot he is, saving Felix from a fun trip to the infirmary and denying Hilda the pleasure of watching him get sent there.

“Take a trip to the sauna! Relax a little!” He suggests, prying the sword out of her hands. Hilda can feel Felix’s annoyance rise from across the room. “You deserve it.”

She reaches for the sword, but Claude holds it out of her grasp, and she falls back on her heels with a defeated sigh. “I suppose I could freshen up a bit before my trip to the market tonight. In the meantime, could you take over for me? You need to tire Felix out for me or else he’ll be banging on my door all night.” She spares a glance over at Hilda, who waves innocently at them. “Don’t worry, Hilda is here to cheer you on.” 

Claude looks less than excited to see her there, even as she waves at him. “I think it’s so brave and strong of you to take Felix on like this! She’s right, Marianne and I will be here cheering for you here on the sidelines, and ready to drag your dead body away at the end!” 

Claude visibly pales at that, nervously glancing between Felix’s sword and the shit-eating grin on its wielders face. “Um, go easy on me?”

Felix rolls his shoulders a few times, swinging his sword around threateningly, crest blinking in warning. Hilda _almost_ feels bad for Claude. “Absolutely not.”

Hilda leans towards Marianne, shaking the coin pouch in her hand. “Hey, you wanna make some money?” 

_Teach's New Friend (?)_

  * ~~_Yuri (handsome)_~~
  * ~~_Felix (dark)_~~
  * _Sylvain (tall)_



**__________**

  
  


“It’s a pity date,” Hilda whispers to Dorothea. 

“No, the professor would never agree to that,” the songstress whispers back. 

“Maybe she lost a bet?” Annette chimes in. 

“ _Maybe_ we should mind our own business and get back to training or studying,” Lysithea cuts in. “Am I the only one who remembers that the fake librarian tried to kill us yesterday? What if another one of the faculty goes crazy and we’re forced to graduate early? Are any of you losers ready?”

“Hey, it’s not like you died or anything,” Hilda dismisses with a roll of her eyes. “Come on, Lysithea. You can think of this as a social experiment.” 

“How?”

“You’ll see,” Dorothea sing-songs, her eyes suddenly narrowing. “Hey, did he just buy her flowers?” 

Sure enough, Hilda looks across the market to see Sylvain picking up a bright bouquet of flowers, holding them up to the professor, who nods in approval and places them in her basket. “I guess that’s one way to surprise a girl with flowers. Buy them _during_ the date so you know she likes them.”

“Who’s on a date?” 

Hilda whirls around to see Claude standing behind them, a bundle of fresh herbs clutched in his hand. Her and Dorothea exchange a grin as Claude tries to peek around them. 

“The professor,” Hilda hums casually, taking a peek at a nearby stand that sells jewelry. “These blue beads are so beautiful, although I’m not loving the price-” 

Annette grabs her arm, bouncing excitedly. “Hilda, look!” 

Claude is making a beeline for the professor, and the group of girls watches intently as he makes his dramatic entrance. Due to the chatter of the marketplace, they can’t hear what he’s saying exactly, but they watch as he inserts himself between the professor and Sylvain. He takes the basket from her arms and all but shoos her away. 

“You see Claude?” Hilda asks, leaning closer to Lysithea. “Textbook case of jealousy coupled with denial. Isn’t that interesting?” 

The mage purses her lips, and they once again watch as Sylvain and Claude chat for a moment before the two traverse deeper into the marketplace, the latter seeming a little frazzled. “It is interesting.”

Hilda’s coin pouch gets a little bit heavier.

_Teach's New Friend (?)_

  * ~~_Yuri (handsome)_~~
  * ~~_Felix (dark)_~~
  * ~~_Sylvain (tall)_~~



**__________**

  
  


Claude crosses the final name off his list, muttering to himself as he hurries out of the marketplace. He’d just managed to escape Sylvain, who had insisted that Claude help him find a suitable gift for his latest conquest. 

He’d exhausted all three of his leads today, and he’d unfortunately ruled all three of them out. Yuri and Teach liked to share meals together. He cooked, she ate, and over their meal they chatted about lectures, the residents of Abyss, and their most recent battles. Nothing out of the ordinary, and nothing to suggest that Yuri was trying to take advantage of their professor.

It was clear to him that Felix had seen Teach as nothing more than a sparring partner. The growing amount of time they’d been spending together was dedicated to nothing more than training, and it was evident in the way Felix had smacked Claude around the training grounds earlier today. He’d very quickly realized that the Fraldarius crest coupled with Teach’s superb swordsmanship skills were not to be trifled with. Felix had sent him on his way with plenty of bruises. 

Sylvain...well, it turns out that Teach was the only one who didn’t mind being seen with him at night, so she’d agreed to help him do some shopping. No harm, no foul. The only person that had suffered was Claude, who had to watch him pick through fifteen different shops.

All this, and yet Claude still hadn’t figured out who Teach’s new friend was. He shouldn’t be shocked, really. It was only a matter of time before she took a strong liking to someone other than him. She was adored by all, students and faculty alike. It wasn’t a well kept secret that under her stony exterior was a kind, compassionate individual. Anyone who worked up the courage to approach her was always awarded with warm friendship and tea. 

However, Claude had made it his mission to know the ins and outs of the monastery, and that included the people in it. From the Archbishop to the Knights to the nuns, he knew them all, and knew they all loved the monastery’s newest professor. 

Teach’s companions were her own, and Claude didn’t really have any problems with their differences in social interaction. She was very open with those willing to get to know her, and while Claude was no introvert, he was always careful about who he let into his life.

That being said, he was being careful for the both of them. So no, it was _not_ because he was jealous or that he was feeling threatened, as Hilda implied earlier. He was just concerned. It was his duty as house leader to be concerned. Right? 

On the other hand, he knows that Teach is a grown woman. One more than capable of handling herself in any given situation, so why did this bother him so much?

He’s mulling over it, wondering who he’s missed as he walks through the stables, saying a quick hello to Dorte as he walks by. _The only thing I can do now is track Teach down,_ he realizes. 

“Claude!” 

He recognizes Teach’s voice immediately, turning to see her poking her head out one of the stall doors. “Teach? What are you doing out here?”

She doesn’t reply, only pushing the door open and waving him inside. He wrinkles his nose upon entering, the smell of manure overwhelming his senses. He _almost_ wishes that Lorenz were here with some type of fragrant flower pinned to his uniform.

“I’m meeting my friend,” she explains, leading him into the corner of the stables. His heart is hammering as they approach, wondering just who this mystery friend of hers was. 

“Meet Orion,” she announces, and the witty greeting that’s ready to roll off Claude’s tongue slips away when he notices the distinct lack of man beside her. “He’s our newest winged member of the Golden Deer.”

Instead, Teach strokes the neck of a familiar ebony pegasus, and Claude stumbles backwards behind a bale of hay. “Teach! Back up!” he instructs. She ignores him, patting the neck of the evilest pegasus in Garreg Mach. Whatever he’d been feeling before immediately melts away, morphing into one thing.

Fear.

“What’s wrong?” She asks innocently, placing a kiss to the animal’s nose. “Claude?”

“Your _friend_ ,” he says, slowly peeking over the edge of the hay bale, “nearly bruised my ribs last week.”

They’d picked up this particularly fussy pegasus from Nuvelle, as part of the Nuvelle Fliers Corps. It wasn’t wild— most ebony pegasus weren’t — but the Corps had been out of commission long enough that the pegasus wasn’t keen on being ridden again. Being stuck on stable duty, he and Lorenz had initially welcomed the challenge. They were both avid riders after all.

They’d been tossed into the dirt, trampled into the grass, kicked in the stomach (and not by each other). Bucked off too many times to count. 

So imagine Claude’s shock when he finds out that Teach’s new friend lets her pet and kiss and pat him. The very animal that had defiled too many sets of clothes and kicked mud and other unspeakable things in his face.

“Orion?” Teach asks unbelievingly, pulling a browned slice of apple from her pocket. “I don’t believe that. He’s such a sweetheart,” she coos, and Claude flinches as it takes the apple from her palm, knowing full well how many times he’s almost lost a finger trying to feed the thing. “Would you like to feed him?” She offers another piece to him, but he immediately shakes his head.

“I like having both hands.” By the way the pegasus was eyeing him, Claude was sure it’d rather bite his hand off than feed from it. 

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs, reaching over and unlatching the gate to Orion’s pen, gently taking his reins and leading him out. “You should take a closer look. Ingrid gave me this new curry comb and it works wonders on his—”

“That’s uh, close enough, Teach,” he laughs nervously. “He looks great,” he compliments, although he’s looking at the muscles under its shining coat, strengthened from all the kicking he’d done.

“Are you okay?” She asks as Orion nuzzles her. Claude can’t help but notice how close those giant teeth are to her jugular. “You seem a little shaken.”

“Just surprised,” he swallows, and when he makes eye contact with the pegasus, it huffs threateningly. 

Oh, it did not like him.

Teach hums softly as the animal calms, leaning into her touch. “Who did you think I was going to meet?” 

Claude hesitates, the stir of emotions resurfacing for a brief second before dissipating. What did he expect? “I...thought you made a new best friend,” he admits, foolish as it sounds.

Orion whinnies, once again being the big baby that Claude knows he is, and Byleth coos at him, stroking his neck before turning her gaze back to Claude. “Were you jealous?”

“No,” he refuses indignantly, even standing and moving out from behind his protective bale of hay. Even though she laughs at him, Claude can’t help but smile at the sound. The soft, bubbly laugh that never fails to warm his heart.

Then he looks at her, watching the way she soothes her pegasus. This woman, the Ashen Demon, was patient with those she cared about. She’d apparently extended that patience to animals, no matter how evil. 

So had he been jealous? Jealous at the thought of her giving someone else the attention he hated to admit that he craved from her? 

_Yes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> byleth: resting bitch face? my bitch face is always on duty ever vigilant. my bitch face will rest when it's work is done.


	8. ethereal moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cause of Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all knew this was coming, and I needed to give Papa Teach a proper send-off.
> 
> The lyrics I used for the Horsebow Moon and onwards are from the extended version of Butterfly Fly Away by Miley Cyrus (for maximum feels!!! ouch)

_Day 20 of the Horsebow Moon - 1159_

_All is cloudy. I can’t believe she’s dead. Lady Rhea said she died during childbirth. But is that the truth? And still, the child she traded her life for doesn’t make a sound. Didn’t even cry at birth._

Jeralt can’t hear anything. 

He can see her lips moving, feel Rhea touching his arm, but he can’t hear her. He hasn’t heard anything past “I’m so sorry, Jeralt,” because he knows. He knows why she’s sorry.

Sitri is dead. 

They were warned of course, that death was a possibility. Sitri’s weakened state limited her daily activity, even when she wasn’t pregnant. They knew the risks that pregnancy imposed on her frail form. _Sitri_ knew the risks, and while Jeralt had been hesitant, his wife’s resolve had never once wavered. They were keeping the child, she had decided for the both of them. It’d taken him a few days to warm up to the idea, but they were surrounded by the most powerful healers in Fodlan. What could go wrong?

How foolish he had been, because the answer was everything. Everything, Jeralt realizes as he stares down at the sleeping child in his arms. 

_Everything has gone wrong._

  
  


_Day 25 of the Horsebow Moon - 1159_

_It’s raining. The baby doesn’t laugh or cry. Not ever. Lady Rhea says not to worry, but a baby that doesn’t cry...isn’t natural. I had a doctor examine the child in secret. He said the pulse is natural, but there’s no heartbeat. No heartbeat!_

“Leave, and close the door behind you,” Jeralt commands the wet nurse, who carefully lays his child back into her crib and gently eases the door shut on her way out. He’d had a particularly rough morning, because helping Lady Rhea plan his wife’s funeral hadn’t been easy. It was hard not to remember, even harder to forget. When they spoke of floral arrangements, he would see the way Sitri’s eyes would light up when he brought her a freshly picked bouquet. It was especially difficult to refer to her in past tense. 

He hadn’t gotten past the flowers, excusing himself early and rushing back to his quarters. “Get it together,” he mutters to himself, pacing back and forth until his breathing somewhat evens. “Pull yourself together,” he grunts, wiping away the tears that begin to gather in his eyes. 

When he’s calm, he carefully reaches into the crib, scooping the child up into his arms. He’s reminded of how worried he’d been before. He’d never held an infant, what if he dropped their child? Sitri had laughed, as she always had whenever he was worried and had him practice with a small sack of flour. He can hear her voice now, her soothing voice guiding him through the motions.

_Left hand under the head, right arm under the bottom._

_Relax, Jeralt,_ she would say as he held the sack of flour, his body stiff as a board. _Your child will be able to feel if you’re scared._ Jeralt’s chest tightens. He wishes she were here to see him do it now. But it’s just he and their daughter, who hardly makes a sound as he gently rocks her, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes of hers. “Hi, my girl,” he whispers, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

He decides to check one more time, lowering his ear to his daughter’s chest. The doctor must have been wrong. What he said this morning should be impossible.

But it is, because where his daughter’s heart should be he finds hollow silence.

Jeralt can’t hear anything. 

  
  


_Day 2 of the Wyvern Moon - 1159_

_Sunny. I feel I must take the child and leave. But the church is always watching us...I don’t know what Lady Rhea has planned. I used to think the world of Lady Rhea. Now I’m terrified of her._

“The child shall be my successor,” Rhea informs him over tea that afternoon. “It is only right, seeing as she is the child of one who was...very dear to me. It is only right that she someday accept the mantle of Archbishop.”

Jeralt does his best not to crush the teacup in his hand. It’d hardly been a day since Sitri’s burial, and she was already making plans for her child? For _his_ child?

“So you’ll keep her here then?” He grits out, fighting to keep his voice steady as he looks into those empty green eyes. “Cut her off from the outside world, like you did her mother?”

She doesn’t flinch at the harshness of his words, simply setting her teacup down onto the saucer and reaching for his hand. He immediately pulls away, and she purses her lips into a line. “There are things you do not understand, Jeralt. I was protecting her, as I will protect her child.” 

“Then help me understand,” he nearly begs, drawing a shaky breath. “Rhea, please, I need to understand.” _What did you do to them?_

Rhea hesitates, her eyes downcast as she whispers. “I...cannot.” 

For Jeralt, that was all he needed to hear. She’d unknowingly cut the final thread he’d been loosely hanging onto, the only thing keeping him and his child here at the monastery. Because for so long, to him, Lady Rhea was more than the Archbishop. She was the woman who saved his life, those many, many years ago. The reason he’d risen to become the captain of the Knights. The reason why he’d met the love of his life. 

It was different now. He’d once held the utmost respect for Rhea, once looked upon her with such adoration, such gratitude. Gone were those feelings, replaced with nothing but a violent swirl of sadness, anger, and betrayal.

So Jeralt makes up his mind that day on Rhea’s beloved Star Terrance. The day she decides to lie to him, and cuts the final string he’d once hoped would never break. 

He doesn’t care that his own men have been stationed outside his door, that clandestine units have been shadowing his every step. He’ll find a way to get rid of them, he has to. 

Because he’s leaving. 

  
  


_Day 8 of the Wyvern Moon - 1159_

_More rain. I used the fire that broke out last night to fake the child’s death. Lady Rhea is in a state over the news. But I can’t change what I’ve done. I’ve got to take the child and leave._

The air tastes of ashe and smoke. Jeralt stands unmoving as Rhea crumples to the ground before him, weeping. He doesn’t move to comfort her, letting her scream and cry and pound her fists against the soot-covered ground. He stays until one of her advisors rushes in, helping her to her feet as she continues to cry for _her baby_.

Jeralt doesn’t correct her, doesn’t say that his daughter is not _hers,_ and turns on his heel, treading away. He ignores Rhea, who screams for him to _please_ come back, her voice raw with desperation, heavy with emotion. He doesn’t look back, not sparing her a second glance as he walks by the burnt remainder of his room. 

He doesn’t stop until he stands in front of her grave, reaching behind the headstone and sweeping aside a loose pile of dirt to retrieve the only items he’d deemed worth saving. The old, leather bound diary he kept, and the small pouch protecting Sitri’s ring. 

He presses his lips to the smooth stone marking his wife’s resting place one last time, and brushes his fingers against the engraved name of the woman he treasured more than life itself. “I need to go, honey,” he whispers, hoping that somewhere, she hears him. “I hope I can see you again one day.” 

He hears the Knights shouting, and he knows they’re already looking for him. So he pulls his hood up over his head, tucks his treasured belongings safely into a small sack, and slips away. 

His daughter is waiting for him.

  
  
  


_**Horsebow Moon - 1160** _

_You had to do it all alone,_

_make a living, make a home._

_Must have been as hard as it could be._

Loving someone could be scary. Like most things in his life, Jeralt had learned that the hard way. 

In his many years, he’d never loved anyone the way he’d loved Sitri. The moment he’d met her he’d been smitten, like a schoolboy in love. First it was the way she smiled, that shy, serene smile that always made him feel warm and fuzzy, even after a long day. Then it was the way she kissed him, long and sweet, always affectionate. Finally it was the way she would grab his hand, pressing it against her protruding stomach for him to feel every movement, and he would see the sparkle in her eye as she talked about their baby. She’d been his great love, the kind of love you experienced once in a lifetime, and hoped you never lost.

So the moment he had been told that Sitri, his Sitri - who could name every bird that flew past her window, loved flowers, and adored singing - had died, he thought he would never love again. But the moment Rhea had placed their baby girl in his arms, everything had changed, and Jeralt discovered a new type of love. The type of unconditional love only a parent could feel for their child. 

That’s why he’d taken the huge gamble of leaving the monastery with her. Rhea had done something. What that was, Jeralt didn’t know, but it’d resulted in the death of his wife, and had severely affected Byleth. 

It was difficult the first few weeks on their own. She didn’t cry, so he never knew if she was hungry, or tired, or needed a change. The lack of a wet nurse made feeding difficult, and Byleth had been underweight in those weeks. For a while, Jeralt felt like he was shooting arrows into the dark. In fact, the only thing he’d done without fail was soothe her to sleep, and that was with the help of a short lullaby Sitri had never gotten to finish, but had sung every night regardless. 

He remembered listening to her sing it nightly, stilling Byleth’s activity in the womb without fail. Even now, with Jeralt’s rough, mercenary voice, the song never failed to put her to sleep. _Hush, my darling, don’t you cry, stars are out and in the sky. The day is done, the night has come. You’re in my arms where you belong._

He didn’t know what to expect, raising a child like her. The weeks quickly turned to months, and before he knew it, Byleth was a year old. She grew normally, like any child would. And though she didn’t cry or coo or smile, she was able to roll over just fine, and by one year old, she was calling him Dada (despite what the mercenaries in his group might say, he did _not_ cry at that).

  
  
  


_**Garland Moon - 1170** _

_Turned around and you were there_

_The two of us make quite a pair..._

_Looked away and back again,_

_suddenly a year is ten._

_Don't know how we got so far so fast._

Nearly ten years had come and gone, and with the blink of an eye, Byleth had grown into a self-sufficient young girl.

In that time, Jeralt had learned everything about her. He probably knew her better than she knew herself, at this point. He’d studied her closely, and had grown adept at reading her micro-expressions and interpreting her minute actions and few words. The twitch on the right corner of her lips meant she was very pleased, turning away meant she was angry or displeased, a light squeeze of his hand told him that she was afraid. 

He knew that she liked brushing the horses. She liked rabbit stew, but not when he added parsnip. She liked when he braided her hair but only one braid, not two. She enjoyed reading, but only novels with heroines. She liked the rain, but was scared of thunderstorms. Jeralt knew his daughter, and took pride in himself each time he deciphered her growing list of likes and dislikes.

Her emotions were subtle, but they were there and Jeralt knew they were. But not everybody understood her the way Jeralt did, and it was all too easy to miss them or misunderstand her. To mistake her subdued expressions for indifference. It was too often that he’d heard the words “emotionless” and “heartless” float around their camp.

It was how she’d earned her nickname, after all. They’d seen her first kill. Watched her cut the man down without hesitation in a few flawless moves, far more efficient than any other mercenary in their camp. Jeralt was sure something would let up that day. A tear, maybe a frown. Even he had winced as her blade sliced through the man’s throat.

Her face remains unmoving, even as she cleaned her blade of his blood and returned to his side, blood staining her hands. Regardless, Jeralt knelt down and wrapped her in a hug as she leaned into his chest, inhaling a deep, shuddering breath. 

“I know,” he whispers into her hair. “I know.” 

After that incident the others feared her, worried that her emotionless state meant she held no loyalties to them. People were scared of what they couldn’t understand. They looked at his daughter, the tiniest nine year old in the history of Fodlan, and saw her as some kind of monster. Something inhuman. 

A demon.

  
  


_**Wyvern Moon - 1180** _

_And yeah I still don't understand._

_It's not anything we planned._

_Kinda makes you think it's meant to be._

_I always knew the day would come,_

_You'd stop crawling start to run_

_Beautiful as beautiful could be._

At first, Jeralt had been immensely annoyed. He’d roamed Fodlan freely on his own agenda and dodged the Church of Seiros for two entire decades...Only to be caught and dragged back to the monastery by _Alois_ of all people. Talk about dumb fucking luck. 

To face Rhea again after all these years had been its own kind of hell. He’d watched the way that the Archbishop had looked his daughter up and down, his heart dropping into his stomach as realization flickered in her eyes. He still didn’t trust her, and he told Byleth this much. There was nothing he could do now that he’d been forced out of hiding, but now that he was here, the least he could do was protect his daughter as he sought out the truth.

Rhea made some questionable decisions concerning his daughter (some things never change). Due to her level of battlefield expertise, he’d fully expected her to force Byleth into the Knights, where her abilities could be utilised to their fullest extent. But no, she’d made Byleth a professor of all things. His daughter was by no means incapable of teaching the art of warfare to others, but to have her teaching a group of noble brats around her age? She was a commoner. Would they even see her as an authority figure?

To Jeralt’s surprise, they had. In fact, the students had quickly flourished under her leadership. Not only that, they _wanted_ to be around her. The girls invited her to tea and meals, the boys sought her out to spar and train. True to their name, her Golden Deer had followed her around like fawn, on and off the battlefield. 

Then she’d obtained the Sword of the Creator, and Jeralt had started to notice one fawn in particular. 

The _Witty Brat._

Or “Claude” as Byleth called him. 

Ever since the day she’d first been called “the Ashen Demon,” Jeralt had done his best to make sure the people in Byleth’s life were held at arm's length. His daughter may be good at many things, but knowing the intricacies of social interaction was not one of them. People would only hurt her with their unkind words, use her lack of emotion to manipulate her, take advantage of her. Then they would toss her aside like the tool so many had referred to her as. 

So yes, the first time Jeralt had seen Claude eye the fancy sword strapped to his daughter’s hip, he’d been concerned. The brat was sneaky. He pulled pranks, kept secrets, snuck books out of the library. He was as cunning as a noble could get, lying effortlessly and seeming to have no qualms with doing so. This kid was bad news. 

So he’d had a little chat with Claude. And _maybe_ he changed his mind a _little._

Then Jeralt had watched his daughter change. _Really_ change. She smiled often, and not just a twitch of the lips. She had a full, bright, and beautiful smile that Jeralt saw so much of Sitri in. He would see her narrow her eyes in annoyance whenever someone talked while she was teaching. She was so...normal. She laughed with her students, comforted them, reprimanded them. Most importantly, she understood them, and they understood her. 

  
  


**_Ethereal Moon - 1180_ **

_And when I couldn't sleep at night,_

_scared things wouldn't turn out right._

_You would hold my hand and sing to me._

Jeralt watches as Claude waltzes his daughter around the ballroom. Unlike the nobles sharing dances around them, there’s no elegant coordination in their movement. But the smiles on both their faces are genuine, and the sound of his daughter’s laughter is enough to make Jeralt’s heart warm. 

“Claude! Slow down!” He hears her laugh as he spins her, pulling her back to him so she crashes against his chest. Both their cheeks are flushed as he dips her, the tip of his braid touching her cheek. “It’s a miracle we won the White Heron Cup. You aren’t very good at this,” she huffs, face scrunching. 

“You say that now,” Claude replies, tugging her upright again so they’re face to face. “But I’ll sweep you off your feet someday, Teach.” Jeralt pales a little, because he recognizes _The Look_ well enough. He also comes to the startling realization that they haven’t left six inches between them - room for the Goddess, Byleth had joked earlier. 

Jeralt is about to remedy that when a hand clamps down on his wrist, and he turns to see Seteth stopping him with a surprisingly strong grip for an advisor. “Weapons away, Captain,” he chides, staring pointedly at the dagger clutched in his hand. Funny, when did that get there?

Lucky for Claude, they both take a step back before anything can happen, and Jeralt returns the dagger to his sheath. He’ll live...for now. 

“Your daughter is quite popular,” Seteth observes as Ashe taps Byleth on the shoulder, offering her a hand. “She seems to be well acquainted with the students.” 

“I’m glad,” Jeralt admits. “She really likes it here. You’ve...treated her well. Thank you.” 

The advisor shakes his head. “It is our pleasure, Captain. You have raised your daughter well,” he compliments, and Jeralt hums in agreement. Yes, he has.

“You as well. Flayn is a wonderful young lady,” he grins, stifling his laughter when he catches the way Seteth’s face pales, eyes widening. 

“E-excuse me?” 

Jeralt claps the sputtering Seteth on the back once. “Father to father, don’t coddle your kid too much. It gets a little obvious.” 

“How did- How-”

“Oops,” Jeralt interrupts, holding up his empty flute of champagne. “Looks like I need a refill.” 

He chuckles to himself as he heads over to the refreshment table, and is about to pick up a new glass when someone lightly touches his arm. 

“Can you spare me a dance, Captain?” Byleth asks, 

“Of course, Professor,” he agrees, abandoning his glass and following her onto the dance floor. “Where did you learn to dance like this?” He asks as she positions their hands, and proceeds to lead him in a simple box step. Sitri had taught him long ago, but he’d certainly never taught Byleth. 

“Claude taught me,” she answers, and Jeralt wonders why he even asked. 

“You sure about that? Cause he didn’t seem so good at it a minute ago.” 

Byleth _blushes_ , and Jeralt can’t help but smirk a little, earning a smack on the arm. “He’s perfectly capable of explaining the mechanics of it, but the actual execution…isn’t so great.” 

“So I saw,” he hums. “You looked like you were having fun though. I love seeing you like this, By.” 

“Happy?” She asks, tilting her head at him. 

He looks down to see that smile he loves so much appear on her face again. “Alive,” he tells her. 

  
  


**__________**

  
  


Jeralt knows that he’s dying. He feels the slow crawl of death slowly claiming him, and the wound draining him of whatever energy he has left.

“Please hold on,” his daughter begs, pressing her hand against his wound.

But he tries, he really does.

“Sorry…It looks like I’m going to have to leave you now.”

“Dad, no,” Jeralt hears her plead weakly. “Just hold on, okay?” she begs, her voice breaking. He feels a weak pulse of healing magic course through his veins, faintly sees the glow of yellow surrounding him. He feels the exact moment that her magic runs out, leaving him cold, his body aching. He’s dying. 

Byleth seems to know this too, pulling him into her lap. Left arm under his head, right arm cradling his torso.

“I can’t do this without you,” she whispers, and just as Jeralt begins to fade out of consciousness, he feels a single tear land on his cheek.

She’s crying. His baby is _crying._

A sob escapes her throat, and Jeralt’s heart aches at the rawness of the sound. All he wants to do is wipe her tears away. It was something he’d never done before, and now would never get the chance to do. 

“To think that the first time I saw you cry...your tears would be for me,” he breathes, feeling her squeeze his hand. She’s scared. “Thank you, kid.”

Her trickle of tears turns into mingle with the sudden downpour of rain, and her heaving sobs echo around the dilapidated stone walls around them. 

_“The day is done,”_ he hears her rasp quietly as his eyes slip shut, “ _the night has come.”_ With the last bit of energy he can summon, he does his best to smile, mouthing the words with her. 

_“You’re in my arms where you belong.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [not pictured]
> 
> jeralt: hey, let me see what you have  
> monica, stabbing him: a KNIFE  
> byleth: N O


	9. guardian moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: major death and grief

Growing up as a mercenary, Byleth was familiar with the physical aspect of death. Death was the end of a life, simple as that. She’d been raised around it, and had killed more people than she could count at this point. Her father had taught her that it was better to acknowledge that life, every minute of it, was borrowed time. That it was easier not to form connections, because each person you let yourself care about was just going to be one more loss somewhere down the line. The sooner one realized how impermanent life was, the less they become entangled in superficial things; things that clouded your judgement. Things like grief. To her, grief was an inhibitor, and prior to arriving at the monastery, Byleth never stopped to think about how she truly felt about it. 

But then she’d seen the way her students had been affected by it. She’d quietly observed how it affected Ashe and Sylvain. Though to different extents, they’d both been sad. The death of a loved one was traumatic, and that trauma played out as grief. Grief was different for all, but it wasn’t an inhibitor - it was the price one paid for loving someone, and the closer they were to the person, the deeper the hurt was. 

All these years, Byleth had caused that trauma. She’d unknowingly made people suffer, and until now she’d done so without so much as a second thought. Over the years her blade had indifferently torn through the flesh of people’s family members, people’s friends. 

How carefree she’d once been. 

Her father’s death set off a chain reaction. The events that followed were a series of painful blows that occurred in such quick succession that Byleth didn’t have time to properly react or process any of it. One minute her father was there, laughing and joking with her. The next, she was holding him in her arms as he bled out into the grass. From the moment Claude had gently eased Byleth’s hands from her father’s tunic, everything had gone by in haze. She just...wasn’t there. 

Byleth felt like she was sleepwalking again, physically present in each moment, even if she didn’t feel like she was. She hadn’t cried since the day her father had died. She didn’t shed a tear as they prepped his body for burial. She didn’t sob during the funeral like Alois had as Rhea praised her father for giving his life in service of the church. Even as her legs buckled, knees sinking into the sodden earth as her father’s casket was lowered into its final resting place, there were no tears flowing down her cheeks that mingled with the rain. 

There was just nothing, and it confused her because up until that day she’d felt things. She’d reacted to things. She’d felt happy and annoyed and excited. Curious, surprised, frustrated, amused. For the first time since she could remember, she’d _felt_ things. 

But now that it mattered, she couldn’t. She should be crying over him right now, screaming, anything. Anything would be better than the sheer nothingness that she’d once been accustomed to. All she felt was awful hollowness, and waves of wretchedness that threatened to engulf her mind, body, and even her soul. This, she realized, was grief. For so long she’d been untouched by it, unaffected and unaware. Grief was a hole in her heart in the shape of her father. It was the need to release the tears couldn’t seem to form anymore.

All she knew was that she was tired, so she’d locked herself in her room and refused to see or speak to anyone. For three days she’d stayed in her room and not come out for food or to relieve herself until she was sure everyone in the monastery was asleep. She was tired of everyone looking at her with pity in their eyes. She was tired of the flowers and the words of encouragement. She was tired of monks and priests telling her that Jeralt was with the goddess. She was tired of Lady Rhea swooping in and playing her surrogate mother, and Seteth constantly checking in on her to assess her mental state and make sure she wasn’t developing any sinister intentions. 

The only person she wasn’t tired of was Claude. He didn’t try to force her to cheer up with words of encouragement or leave flowers at her doorstep. He would just sit on the other side of her closed door at the end of each day, talking to her like a normal person, as if it were any other day. 

  
  


**__________**

  
  


It’d been raining for three days straight, the downpour relentless and not once letting up. In the rain, he’d pried Teach’s bloodied hands from her father’s tunic as she cried. In the rain, Claude had led them back to the monastery as their professor trudged behind the group with an expression as downcast as the gloomy sky. In the rain the next day, they’d lowered the casket into the ground and buried her father. Long after the funeral had ended, he and the Deer had stood behind their professor in the rain as she knelt before the grave of the man who had raised her, taught her, and loved her. 

It’s raining on the fourth day too, and the monastery was still in shock and mourning. There was no laughter and few smiles. Jeralt Eisner’s death had left its mark, especially on Teach. 

But life kept moving, as it usually does. Classes resumed and because Teach had taken time off, their class had alternated between Manuela and Hanneman’s classes. Mornings were spent with the Eagles, where he was bored by stories of Manuela’s opera days. Afternoons and evenings were spent with Hanneman, where tactic lectures and weapons training wasn’t nearly as stimulating as it was with Teach. With graduation steadily approaching, the Golden Deer were missing their professor. 

Claude was distracted. He couldn’t focus on the lectures, not just because they were dull, but because he was wondering how. How Monica’s plan had slipped past his defences, and he’d allowed the worst to happen. How he’d been so blind. The Knights were out seeking the enemy, but it was too late. Jeralt was dead, and there was nothing they could do about it now. Finding and killing Monica couldn’t bring him back, but maybe Teach could find some type of satisfaction in taking her head off her shoulders. 

The Deer had gathered in their classroom for a study group, scouring over the notes from the tactics lecture Teach had given last week. Well, Lysithea’s notes to be exact. Claude was on snack duty, and had returned from the dining hall to see a familiar head of teal hair at the front of the classroom. 

He’s relieved to see her at first. No one had seen her since the funeral, and they’d all been worried. She didn’t eat the meals he left her, didn’t clear the offerings and bouquets from her doorstep. It’s a relief to see her out and about again. 

But then Claude _sees_ her. Though her shoulders are slumped, she stands perfectly still as Leonie speaks with her, face sunken and hollow. There are deep, dark bags under her eyes, the product of various sleepless nights. Her expression remains blank, and Claude is reminded of the first time he’d met her. It’s like the slate had been wiped completely, and he hates it. He hates it because he knows how far she’d come since then.

Lysithea is suddenly at his side, grabbing his arm. “Claude. You have to stop her,” she whispers urgently, nodding her head to Leonie. “The professor came in to hand back our last assignments, and Leonie just...it started as an apology.” Claude sets the basket of snacks down, creeping forward to catch the tail ends of their conversation.

Teach keeps her eyes downcast as Leonie rants, voice steadily rising in volume. “But then you came along…” 

“Leonie,” Claude warns slowly, placing a hand on her shoulder. She just swats his hand off, getting into Teach’s face, her mouth twisted into a mean scowl. He knew she was hurting at the loss of her mentor, but yelling at the man’s daughter wasn’t the way to heal.

“And it was like you didn’t even appreciate Captain Jeralt at all,” Leonie snaps, her eyes glistening with tears as Teach closes her eyes, jaw tightening. “You didn’t appreciate how lucky you were to have him around your whole life!” 

The room is dead silent as her words echo around them, eyes downturned as Leonie storms out. It’s a low blow, and no one moves as Teach exhales a loud, unsteady breath, her body beginning to tremble. “Hey,” Claude tries weakly, taking a step towards her. She shakes her head, holding a hand out to stop him before swiftly exiting the room. Claude isn’t sure what to do. He didn’t have any experience with a grieving person

“Go check on her,” Hilda urges. “She might need you. We’ll check on Leonie.”

Claude goes, jogging towards her room, where he knows she’s headed. He catches sight of her just as she slams her door shut, and as he walks up the stairs to her room, he hears her laboured breathing from the inside. 

“Teach?” he calls, knocking twice. She doesn’t answer, but doesn’t tell him to go away either. He’s concerned now, pressing his ear against the door. She sounds like she’s hyperventilating. “I’m coming in,” he announces, trying the handle. He’s relieved to find that it’s unlocked, and throws the door open. 

She’s gripping the edge of her desk, head bowed as her breaths come in short, quick succession. “What’s wrong?” He asks softly, easing the door shut behind him, propriety be damned.

To his surprise she whirls around, and Claude can see the sadness clouding her features as she stares at him, her bottom lip quivering. “What’s wrong?” She repeats, her entire body beginning to shake. “You’re asking me what’s wrong?” He nods once, unsure of what to say. 

“What’s wrong is that my father is dead, Claude,” she sniffs. “He was murdered eight feet in front of me and even though I tried to fix it, Monica just kept stabbing him, and he just kept dying,” she growls through gritted teeth, eyes flaring at the mention of her father’s killer. She stares down at her hands, balling them into fists. “What good is any of it if I can’t even save the people I care about?” 

He pauses as he processes her words. Was she talking about her faith magic? “What do you mean…” 

She doesn’t seem to hear him as she takes a step towards him. “What’s wrong is that I let her get away, and now she’s out there probably planning to kill us,” she adds with a breathy laugh, tears glistening in the corner of her eyes as she glances up at the ceiling. “And all I can think about is how Leonie was right,” she heaves, her voice breaking as she screws her eyes shut. “Because everyone has told me how I was the most important thing in his life, and how much he loved me,” she croaks. “But I never told him. I never told him how happy he made me, or how he changed my life. I never told him that I loved him, more than anything. Now he’ll never know because he’s dead,” she breathes, staggering backwards until her knees hit the bed, and she crumples onto the floor. "He's buried six feet under, in the cold, dark soil, and he's alone!" 

“What’s wrong is that I can’t feel _anything,_ Claude,” she whispers, hands clutching where her heart should be. “I can’t _feel_ anything,” she repeats shakily, as the tears that had flooded her eyes finally spill over onto her pale cheeks, and Claude feels the exact moment his heart breaks in two for her. His Teach, a woman who walked tall and is the strongest person he’d ever known, reduced to a shaking, sobbing mess on the floor. “ _I can’t feel anything,”_ she sobs, wrapping her arms around herself. _“I can’t.”_

So Claude gets down onto the floor with her, scooting up behind her and wrapping his arms around her tightly. She needs physical pressure, spread across a large area of her body.

“What are you doing?” she chokes, fighting weakly against his hug. “Stop. I don’t want this - I can’t - you can’t -” but he ignores her, just holding her tighter. 

“You’re panicking and you’re going to resist it at first,” he tells her firmly as she squirms, pushing against him. “But eventually your pulse rate will slow. Your breaths will come easier as your sympathetic nervous system relaxes and your metabolic rate decreases,” he informs her. “You’ll be okay, Byleth. You’ll be okay,” he assures her, and eventually she stops twisting and turning, going limp in his hold, both her hands gripping the arms he has wrapped across her chest. He feels her tears roll down her cheeks and soak through the sleeve of his shirt, but he doesn’t move, holding her through the heaving sobs that wrack her body. “You’re okay,” he whispers in her ear, even if she doesn’t believe it.

She’s hurting, and no one should have to hurt alone. 

He holds her until he hears her previously staccato breathing even out, and he’s sure that she’s cried out. He does his best not to jostle her, carefully lifting her up carefully laying her in bed. He’s about to pull back and tuck her in when her hand reaches out and grabs his jacket, keeping him in place. 

“Stay,” she pleads quietly. “Just for a few minutes.” 

Claude swallows thickly. He can’t say no. “Okay,” he agrees, hesitating slightly. What does he do? Does he lay beside her? No, the bed is too small, they would be too close and that would be...not appropriate. Instead, he pulls her desk chair up to the bed so he’s seated by her head, and when she reaches out he takes her hand without hesitation. This was okay. 

“Teach?” He tries, his thumb idly stroking the back of her hand. She hums in response, half-lidded eyes regarding him sleepily. “I know that Rhea probably wouldn’t let you but...If you wanted to leave this place, I would help you. Today, tomorrow, next Thursday. You just say the word.” He knows it can’t be easy to stay here. Taking into consideration the incident in Abyss, and now her father…

“Thank you,” she says, squeezing his hand lightly. “Maybe I’ll follow you to Derdriu after all,” she adds with a weak smile. 

“We’d be honoured to have you.” Nothing would make him happier.

She gives him a small nod as her eyes begin to flutter shut, sleep claiming her. “After I kill _her._ ” 

On that, Claude agrees. “Whatever you need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hilda when she sees Claude come out of the professor's room: do some pretty intense pre-marital h*nd-h*lding?


	10. pegasus moon

After the incident in the Sealed Forest, Lady Rhea had been housing Teach in the Archbishop’s quarters. No visitors were allowed, and Claude had been stressed about that, to say the least. He was anxious to see her again, because the last memories he’d had of her weren’t the most pleasant. 

  
  


_He and the Deer had witnessed her unhinged combat, watched as her sword viciously tore through enemy after enemy, her once efficient methods lost to her rage. Then he’d felt the panic rise in his chest as he watched her chase after Kronya, and just as she was about to deal the final blow, Solon had reappeared out of nowhere, materializing out of thin air and killing Kronya himself, quite literally tearing her heart out._

_But then the big-brained freak had set his sights on Teach and Claude had been powerless, wholly unable to stop the chain of events that followed. For the sake of his classmates, he’d hid the way that his panic bubbled over as she disappeared into the ominous haze of dark magic, masking his panic and confusion with pure denial at the fact that she was gone._

_His classmates yelled amongst themselves, a hellish mix of panic, worry, and fear. Claude could hardly contain the trembling of his hands as he nocked another arrow, aiming straight at Solon’s obnoxiously large right temple._

_Then the sky behind Solon was being split open, and the streaks of light that shone from that tear in space were so blinding that Claude and the rest of the Deer had thrown their hands up to shield their eyes._

_When Claude’s eyes had adjusted enough, he peered through his fingers just in time to see a familiar silhouette amidst emerge from the tear, landing with practiced ease. Claude blinked a few times to ensure that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him._

_The figure stood, and Claude’s eye was immediately drawn to the jagged tip of that familiar holy sword, radiating with divine power. But as his eyes travelled up each inch of her body, he knew this was no trick._

_There, standing in a brilliant light that didn’t dim, was Byleth._

_Mostly._

_It was her - with her full cheeks and smooth cream skin, backlit by a new halo of tea green hair. It was her - with her face set in stone, new viridian eyes blazing with holy fury as they glared at Solon, letting him know that she would not be the one dying today._

_Solon disappeared with a flash of purple light, appearing on the edge of a small cliff above them and summoning reinforcements in an attempt to stall their movement. Teach didn’t so much as flinch, only turning to face her students, to face him, and those new jewel-toned eyes met his own as she nodded. She was ready. Everyone began moving around him, Byleth directing them left and right._

_In one brief, dizzying moment of weakness, Claude couldn’t move. He was frozen somewhere between the uplifting moments of elation and wonder, thinking he’d never seen someone so beautiful._

Solon had breathed his last breath that night. With Teach in command, they’d made quick work of his reinforcements, leaving him nowhere to run as they closed in from both sides. Teach had gotten there first, the whip of her sword catching Solon in the abdomen. She’d quite literally cut him in half, using his last words to call them beasts, his dark blood oozing out onto the grass. 

They didn’t get the chance to celebrate, because approximately two minutes after the battle had ended, Teach had passed out. Claude had carried her back on his wyvern, her back pressed to his chest, body secured between his arms as he white-knuckled the reins. He’d passed her off to Rhea, and was about to give a full report when the Archbishop whisked their professor away, calling for Seteth.

“Your professor is still resting,” Seteth tells him for the second time today, not looking up from his papers. “She will be back in time for class on Monday. Please, do not disturb her.” 

The second he leaves Seteth’s office, Claude rolls his eyes. Typical of the Church to withhold precious material.

He wasn’t going to wait until Monday.

  
  


__________

  
  


When Byleth opens her eyes, the first thing she registers is that she isn’t in her room. Instead of the wooden rafters of her ceiling, she sees a white canopy hanging above her head. Still half asleep and with a dull throb developing behind her temples, she slowly sits up and looks around. The dresser is far too large and ornate to belong to her. The two intricate brass candelabras look far too expensive to be hers. A pile of her clothes lay on the chaise, her dagger laid on top, Sword of the Creator resting against the armrest. Across from the bed is a vanity, a vase of lilies adorning its surface. 

This is Rhea’s room. 

As she stares at the lilies and wonders why the heck she’s in the Archbishop’s room, the image in the mirror catches her eye. No, not an image, a reflection. _Her_ reflection. 

She rolls gracelessly out of bed, the hem of a too-long nightgown pooling at her feet. Her absentmindedly smooth over the silky, pure white material. This isn’t even her dress. She ignores that for now, padding across the room and taking a seat on the velvet cushioned seat.

She couldn’t help but stare at the reflection. It’d been the first time she’d seen herself since merging with Sothis, but she’d remembered hearing Claude’s comments and caught the way her students had stared before promptly passing out. Did she really look that different? Studying her face from all angles, Byleth notes that the only physical change had been in her hair and eye colour. She’d never noticed how long her hair had gotten, flowing halfway down her back. She hadn’t cut it since the Great Tree Moon. All in all, she didn’t look all too different, but an unwarranted change in appearance was still unsettling, and if people doubted she was related to Jeralt before, then they definitely wouldn’t believe it now. She hated it.

She studies a lock of her hair, scoffing as she lets the fine green strands fall back over her shoulder. All this power, yet she still had split ends? Ridiculous.

Byleth sighs deeply, slumping back against the cushioned chair and staring up at the ceiling, an unsettling feeling welling up inside of her. There was something wrong with the room. Not only was it not her own, but it felt like there was something missing, and it bothered her. Despite the fact that the window was open and the first rays of dawn flooded the room, the atmosphere was dense and strange. It was as if an invisible fog had rolled in, making her wary even though the room was empty and she knew she was alone.

She was alone because Sothis was gone.

There was no more Sothis hovering around, chiding her for wasting time glowering. She had grown so accustomed to the goddess’ rambling in her head that it was the silence that unsettled her. She’d woken up this morning in a bed that wasn’t hers, wearing clothes that didn’t belong to her. For the first time in a long time, she’d woken up alone.

She pulls her knees up into her chest, tucking her chin between them. When Byleth had first come here, she didn’t mind being alone. She would drink tea alone, read alone, eat alone, and at times she was fine with it. 

But this was a different type of loneliness. The type that had grown steadily since the death of her father, full of despair and memories she couldn’t seem to hold onto anymore because Byleth was well and truly alone now. No mother, no father, no goddess. 

Without Sothis here to fill the void of silence, Byleth was forced to face the harrowing reality of her current predicament. Thoughts of the future swirled around her head at a dizzying speed, and she winced as her fingers rubbed her temples in an attempt to alleviate the now pounding headache. What was she supposed to do now?

She shut her eyes, trying to figure out how her life could have arrived at this strange, dark place where nothing seemed familiar anymore. Sothis had once told her to cut her own path, but had she chosen wrong? She had chosen, and those interwoven into her life had suffered the consequences.

“Oh, I’m so happy to see that you’re awake.” 

Her head snaps up, and Byleth tenses as Lady Rhea’s reflection appears in the mirror, planting her feet on the floor to stand.

“No,” Rhea says. “Sit, you must still be weary.”

She’s fully alert now, but Byleth stays seated, turning her head to watch as the Archbishop closes the door. “Why am I here?” She questions. Rhea ignores her, closing the distance between them with barely contained excitement.

“It matters not,” she smiles softly. “If you would, please allow me a closer look at your face.” Byleth opens her mouth to protest, but before she can speak the words, Rhea’s cool hands are on either side of her face. “Those beautiful shining eyes,” she breathes, her face so close to her own. “And silken hair...so similar to my own.” Byleth feels a chill travel down her spine as Rhea’s thumb smoothes over her cheek. “Such a sweet face.”

Rhea’s startles, pulling her hands back suddenly. “Oh dear, please excuse my rudeness. I forgot myself for a moment. It is only that you’ve just woken since you’ve been blessed with the power of the goddess. I hope I have not caused you any discomfort.”

“Not at all,” Byleth lies.

“In that case, would you mind if I…” she reaches around her, picking up a hair comb laying beside the vase of lilies. 

“Oh,” Byleth hesitates. Only Jeralt had brushed her hair. “Um, go ahead.” 

“Thank you,” she smiles again, and Byleth is nowhere near comforted by it. “It is my dearest wish that we may strengthen the bonds between us further still.” 

“Our bonds?” Byleth asks as Rhea moves behind her, squaring her shoulders so she faces the mirror again. 

“Yes. As souls blessed by a connection to the progenitor god, the bonds between us are truly unbreakable,” she explains, carefully running the fine toothed comb through a lock of her hair. “Just as the goddess blessed you with her own power, I too received her divine protection. Long, long ago. Though different, our fates are entwined.” 

Sothis had said that too, on the day they’d read her father’s diary. “I don’t understand.” 

Rhea hums contentedly as she continues to comb through the strands of her hair. “Yes, I am certain there is much you still don’t understand. Just know that the truth has a way of revealing itself, in time. If you experience any further changes, please know that you can rely on me to guide you. Seteth and Flayn are also here to support you however they can.” 

Byleth nods mutely, eyeing Rhea’s reflection as she handles her hair with such motherly affection, humming the tune Byleth recognizes from the night of the ball - the one that Sothis claimed she had sung once. Though Rhea’s touch is feather light and her voice is smooth as honey, Byleth can’t help but feel on edge. Without Sothis’ commentary in her head, she’s all too aware of just how uncomfortable she is. 

“I’m feeling faint,” she decides, leaning out of Rhea’s touch. The Archbishop purses her lips together into a thin line, her brows knotting in concern. 

“Should I call for Manuela?”

“N-no,” Byleth says quickly. “I think I just need to lie down.” 

“Oh, of course,” Rhea sighs, placing the comb on the vanity and offering Byleth her arm. “I’ll help you to bed then, come along.” 

Byleth reluctantly accepts the help, letting Rhea walk her to the bed. Rhea was treating her like a child incapable of caring for herself, even tucking her in as she got under the duvet. “May the goddess protect you always,” she whispered, placing a chaste kiss to her forehead, making her shudder. “I do hope that we get to do this again,” she says hopefully, but Byleth doesn’t say anything.

Her entire body relaxes the second Rhea shuts the door behind her, and Byleth once again finds herself staring up at the white canopy. 

A knock startles her, the sharp sound rippling through the silence as she sits up in bed. There’s another knock, and Byleth realizes that it isn’t coming from the door. It’s coming from the window, now accompanied by a muffled voice. 

_“Teach!”_

“Claude?” She asks, and sure enough, Claude von Riegan’s tousled brown hair peeks over the windowsill. Tearing the sheets off, she rushes to the window and pushes it open.

“Will milady give me a hand up?” He requests, and Byleth rolls her eyes, grabbing his hand and helping him through the window. 

“Are you insane?” She whispers harshly as he flops onto the floor with a groan. “We’re on the third floor, Claude. How did you even get up here?” 

He jumps up, dusting off his pants. “I’m just that good, Teach,” he winks as his wyvern chirps in the distance. “And I have fantastic allies.” Byleth notices his eyes give her a quick once over, lingering a moment longer on her face.

“Does it look bad?” She asks, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, suddenly very self-conscious.

Claude immediately shakes his head. “No, of course not. It suits you, really.” He studies her again, and this time Byleth feels heat rise to her face. “Although when you’re dressed like that...you kind of look Rhea,” he admits, and the heat she felt is instantly snuffed out, replaced by a chill in the pit of her stomach.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, wrapping her arms around herself. “If you get caught you’ll get in a lot of trouble.” The third floor was off-limits to students, and even Byleth hadn’t ventured upon it until now.

“Just wanted to see how my Teach was doing,” he smiles innocently. “Seriously though, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine. Just a little on edge,” she admits. “I only woke up an hour ago.”

“An hour ago?” He echoes. “You’ve been asleep for two days, Teach.” 

Byleth can’t help but laugh. Well then she’d definitely merged with Sothis. The goddess spent a lot of time sleeping. 

Claude reaches into his coat, pulling out her father’s worn journal. “Well, while you’ve been napping, I’ve been doing some light reading and I wanted to ask you something. I couldn’t wait until Monday, so here I am.” 

“How is it?” Byleth asks curiously. It’d been too hard for her to read, so she’d passed it off to Claude until she had the courage to finish the whole thing. 

He takes a seat on the bed, patting the spot beside him. “A lot of the first half reads like a repressed Adrestian regency romance,” he chuckles, and Byleth knows that he’s referring to the love poems and sonnets about her mother. “You know, stolen glances across the cathedral, loaded exchanges in the greenhouse. Some of it is kind of steamy. Who knew Jeralt Eisner was a soft romantic?” 

“It was unexpected,” she agrees.

“Speaking of the unexpected, is it true that you don’t have a heartbeat?”

“Yes.” 

He seems surprised, his eyes widening momentarily, as if he hadn’t expected her to say yes. “So then it’s true that Rhea did something to you?” 

“...I suppose.” 

“Doesn’t it bother you?” He asks, watching her closely. “Not knowing the truth? I would be going nuts.”

“Obviously it bothers me,” she bristles. “But it’s not like anybody is telling me anything. Instead of giving me an explanation, Rhea keeps saying that ‘the truth will reveal itself in time.’” 

“Seteth?” He tries hopefully.

Byleth shakes her head. “No, I don’t think he’ll tell me anything until Rhea does.” He’d asked her once, if she was ready to hear the truth of her identity, letting on that he knew more than she originally assumed.

“Guess that leaves it up to us then,” Claude grins, nudging her slightly. He gestured to her chest. “Whatever she did scared your father, and it scared him so badly that he left. It also put the goddess of Fodlan in your head. If you were anyone else, Teach, I would say that you’re delusional. But you’re you, and you wield the god sword and have the ancient Crest of Flames. I have little reason _not_ to believe you or what’s written in here. We have to find out what it means, and why she did it.” 

“Okay,” she nods. The lack of a heartbeat never bothered her before, but knowing that _Rhea_ was the reason why she was like this? There was no point in telling Claude ‘no’ anyways. He would look for answers regardless.

Claude was watching her intently, concern written all over those green eyes of his. “You know...there’s a few entries from this year up until...you know. I think you should read them, Teach,” he says softly, setting the diary in her lap. “Anyways, I’ve gotta get going. I had Hilda leeway Seteth, who was on his way here, and I think I’m almost out of time.” He pulls her into a side hug, and Byleth finds herself smiling at the contact. “I’m glad you’re okay, my friend. Really.” 

Maybe...maybe she wasn’t entirely alone.

Claude releases her, moving back towards the window and whistling for his wyvern. “If you’re going by the stables, can you please brush Orion?” She requests sweetly. Her poor pegasus was probably wondering where she was.

“Fine,” Claude groans. “Just don’t be shocked if I lose a finger.”

“Dramatic,” Byleth muses quietly as she closes the window behind him. “My house leader is dramatic.” 

Clutching her father’s diary to her chest, she finds herself sitting at the vanity, staring at her reflection once again. Her life had changed so much since arriving at the monastery, the changes occurring without her consent. Some changes were good, but right now the pros were outweighed by the cons. The physical change in her appearance had been the final nail in the coffin, taking away the one thing she thought she would always have control over. 

_You kind of look like Rhea._

She traces her fingers over the worn engraving of her father’s name. All these changes, good and bad, went back to Rhea and whatever she’d done. She felt a chill run down her spine as she remembered the way the Archbishop had handled her hair with such motherly affection. She did _not_ want to do that again.

The next thing she knew, her dagger was in her hand and she was sawing off locks of tea green hair until the tips barely brushed her shoulders.

She was cutting her own path.

__________

  
  


After class, Claude finds her in the cathedral occupying one of the pews, her eyes shut tightly. Claude had never liked the cathedral. There was something about its energy that unsettled him.

She’d told them of their mission for the month - to accompany her to the Holy Tomb to receive a revelation. Something about that didn’t sit right with him.

“Teach?” He asks quietly, sliding in beside her. “Sorry if I’m interrupting your prayer. I need to talk to you.” 

“I’m not praying,” she whispers, and for some reason Claude thinks she sounds offended. “I’m talking to my dad.” Ah, he recalls her saying that Jeralt never prayed in cathedrals and churches. He would talk to Sitri instead. 

“Oh...I’ll let you finish then.” 

She opens her eyes, turning to face him. He still wasn’t quite used to those viridian eyes. “No, I was just wrapping up. What’s wrong?”

“The revelation,” he starts, lowering his voice so as to not attract members of the church. “It doesn’t make sense. The goddess was living inside you, right? Now you’ve merged with her, and she’s given you her power.” She nods once. “So why have a whole ceremony? What more could the goddess possibly give you?” 

The worried look she sends lets him know he’s right to questoin Rhea's intentions. “It probably has something to do with this,” she says, placing a hand over her heart.

“There has to be another objective, but what?”

Both of them are silent. It was unusual of them to both draw a blank.

“There’s no use in speculating then. Just...be careful, Teach,” he sighs. “By the way...nice hair cut.” Hilda had nearly dropped dead at the sight of it, as she’d been encouraging her to grow it out.

A soft smile appears as she absentmindedly touches her hair, and Claude realizes that it’s the first time he’d seen her smile since Jeralt’s death. “Thank you. It was time for a change. You don’t think it’s too much?”

“No, it looks good,” he says, reaching out and pushing some untamed strands behind her ear. He spots a faint flush of pink on her cheeks as her smile widens, and he almost loses himself in the moment and kisses her. 

_Where did that come from?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The GD hiding in the back:  
> SHA LA LA LA LA LA  
> Don't be scared  
> You got the mood prepared  
> Go on and KISS THE GIRL


	11. lone moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To War

“Hey, Teach?”

Byleth looks up from her desk to see Claude standing in the doorway of her room. “Hey, you should be sleeping,” she yawns, rubbing the back of her neck. She’d been hunched over battle plans for hours, going over and over each one to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. With the Imperial Army due to attack some time tomorrow, she couldn’t waste a single hour. 

“You know how it goes, if you’re awake, I’m awake,” he chuckles. “Can I come in?” Byleth waves him in, watching as he leans against her dresser. Usually they’d be in the classroom going over these plans together over tea, but tonight she’d sent him to bed. He needed all the rest he could get for tomorrow. “I’ve avoided asking this for a while but...how are you feeling about our chances? Don’t lie.”

Over the past few weeks, all Byleth had been thinking about was their chances. “I wish they were better,” she admits, and Claude’s shoulders slump a little. “Anyway, did you need something? Have any questions?” 

He pushes up off the dresser to face her. “I wanted to talk to you about something. In case we don’t get a chance tomorrow.” He offers her his arm. “Walk with me?” Byleth takes his arm without hesitation, letting him lead her out into the moonlit night. The light from the full moon spilled from the hands of the night sky, seeping into every crevice of the eerily silent monastery. Under other circumstances, she’d be happy to enjoy a walk with him under the clear night sky. 

“Teach...do you believe in the concept of fate?”

Byleth’s breath catches in her throat. _Fate._ That which is inevitably predetermined. Unavoidable and prophetic. Fate was her and her father returning to the monastery. Fate was her father being murdered. Fate was becoming one with the goddess. “I do. Some things are just...unchangeable and out of our control. One could say meant to be.” 

“I agree,” he nods. “Meant to be,” he repeats, looking up at the moon. “Like meeting you, for example. It had to be fate; our paths crossing that night.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Before I met you, I never could have imagined that it was possible for someone like you to exist. You just seem sort of...impossible. I think everyone would agree with that. I consider myself the embodiment of distrust, yet I can say, without a doubt, that I trust you.” 

“Why me?” She asks curiously. “You don’t know who I am. I don't even know who I am.”

He shoots her a funny look, paired with a half-smile. “I do know you, Teach. You’re a tactical genius, a skilled swordsman, you’ve got a dry sense of humour, and...you care about the people you let into your life. Deeply.” 

“Are you suggesting that I’m soft?” She jokes, pinching his arm. 

“Maybe a little,” he grins cheekily. “All in all, I trust you because after everything that’s happened, you’re still here. You could have easily run for the hills the second your father died and never looked back. I wouldn’t have blamed you.” 

They come to a stop in front of the fishing pond, and Byleth doesn’t take her eyes off the water as they sit side by side on the edge of the pier, their feet dangling over the water. Moonlight shone like a band of silver, illuminating the soft ripples from the brushes of wind. This was where her and her father spent afternoons fishing together, chatting and joking quietly. Her chest ached. She would give anything for one more afternoon with him. It was for that reason she couldn’t leave this place and the memories it held. Her parents were here. Her friends were here. Claude was here. “I could never leave you behind.” 

“I have to admit, I would hate to lose you,” he says quietly. “Your presence has quickly become invaluable in my life, and it’s hard to imagine ever moving forward without you by my side. Because of that, I can’t believe for a second that our meeting was just a coincidence. That means it must have been fate. If my fate was to meet you, then...I have to ask you something.” 

Byleth watches his face expectantly, noting his oddly somber expression. “Come to Derdriu with me. I don’t...I don’t know how much time I have before my grandfather dies and I become the Duke. I don’t know how much time I have before Edelgard decides that the Church isn’t enough, and decides to invade Faerghus and the Alliance. I don’t know what the future will bring, but I do know that I’ll need your help.” 

“You are a perfectly capable leader,” she assures him. He’s more than capable, and if the last few months were any indicator, then the Alliance was in great hands. 

He hangs his head. “Leading the class is different. We’re all peers and I have you. But this is the _Leicester Alliance,_ and this is _war._ None of us know what we’re doing.” Byleth doesn’t answer for a moment as reality sinks in. No one knew what tomorrow would bring, where would she go once the siege was over? What would she do? 

“I don’t want to force you,” Claude continues. “I promised...Um, it’s your choice. If you want to stay and fight with the church or if you want to go back to being a mercenary, I won’t stop you. I get-” 

“Claude,” she interrupts, placing her hand over his. “This is my fight too. I saved Edelgard’s life that night in Remire, and it turns out she allied herself with the people who killed my father. So if I’m going to be a part of this war then I’m choosing who I fight for, and it’s not the church. It’s you. It’ll always be you.” 

She giggles as he breathes a sigh of relief, wiping imaginary sweat off his brow. “That’s a relief. I was scared I was going to have to tie you to the back of my wyvern or something,” he jests, making her roll her eyes. “But seriously, thank you. I feel a little better going into this knowing I’ll have you with me.” 

Byleth squeezes his hand lightly, resting her head on his shoulder as they sit in relative silence under the canopy of luminous stars. This was quite possibly the last time they would share a moment of respite. The last time they may ever chat, and she wasn’t going to waste it again. “Claude, can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“Before I came here, I didn’t have any strong feelings about life or anything really, but you changed that. You make me so happy, and I’m grateful for the time we’ve spent together. You changed my life, Claude, and for that I’m glad fate brought us together that night and I...” Byleth looks up at him, the words catching in her throat when her eyes meet his. 

The feeling she gets is foreign, stretching throughout her entire body. It was almost overwhelming, but made her feel complete. It was the way her stomach fluttered when he smiled at her. The sense of comfort and warmth she found, sobbing that night in his arms. There was no depth nor bound nor length to this feeling; it was just absolute, and it meant everything to her.

 _I love you,_ every molecule in her body seems to whisper, making her hair stand on end.

“Thank you,” she says instead. “For everything.” 

  
  


__________

  
  
  


“Professor, Claude...You’ll lead the way, won’t you? You won’t let any of us fall?” Hilda asks, and Byleth’s heart aches. This may have been the moment she was training them for, but to see how scared they were broke her heart. 

“We won’t,” Claude promises for the both of them. “Now go convene with your battalions. Teach and I will meet you on the front lines.” The class disperses quickly, following Catherine out as Claude turns to her. 

“I wanted to talk to Rhea first, but as expected that won’t be possible. What did she hope to accomplish at the Holy Tomb? What happened to you as a baby? There are still so many things I need to know. The same goes for the real origin of the Crest Stones and the Heroes Relics. As for Seiros and Nemesis...just how much of their mythology is true?” 

“We know so little,” Byleth frowns. They hadn’t had time to chase answers, every moment in the last two weeks completely dedicated to preparing to face the Empire in battle.

“It’s true,” Claude shrugs. “Lucky for me, I refuse to die with so much still unknown. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not the kind of man to just roll over and die in a place like this. I’m stubborn like that. I have my own ambitions to see to, and I meant what I said that night in the Goddess Tower. I want you to share in these dreams with me, so you have to survive this too. On top of that, there are still so many secrets about your identity waiting to be uncovered. We can’t let that stand, can we?” 

“We’ll figure it all out,” she agrees. _The truth has a way of revealing itself in time._ “Together.” 

“Together,” Claude repeats slowly. “We may not be connected by blood, but I believe our bond goes deeper than that. Now we know each other, our hearts are connected. Even if our path diverge and we’re forced to say goodbye...I know that we’ll meet again” 

“Because of fate,” Byleth nods. “Fate brought us together that night and fate will have us see this through.” 

Claude slings his bow over his shoulder, reaching out to grasp her shoulder tightly. “Yes, and I’ll forever be grateful. I hold fast to the belief that this isn’t it for us. No matter who or what you really are, I’ll always be on your side. You can’t count on much in this world, but you can count on that.” 

She reaches up and grabs his hand, holding tightly. Byleth could not, for the life of her, fathom how slowly, then somehow all at once, Claude had become someone she was scared to lose. “I’m grateful.”

  
  


__________

  
  


They were losing. 

The bells were tolling, signalling a retreat. The battlefield is a mess, bodies of Imperial and Church forces scorched and bloodied as the Immaculate One blazes a trail through the oncoming units. 

Claude is in the middle of gathering the Deer when Byleth rushes by him. “Teach!” He yells, grabbing her wrist and yanking her back. “Where are you going?” 

She looks hysteric, covered in blood and breathing heavily, looking between her class and the dragon up ahead. “Claude,” she says urgently, shoving her silver sword into his hands. “I need you to lead the retreat. The Ashen Wolves are waiting in Abyss, they’ll show you guys the tunnel leading closest to the Alliance. There are supplies in the woods, Balthus will tell you how to get to them.” 

He’s barely processing her words, his mind racing a mile a minute. “What? You’re not coming?” 

The dragon roars, and Byleth flinches. “I can buy time for the students to retreat, and…” She looks back at the dragon. “Rhea is staying to fight, I need to help her.” She takes a step away from him, but he tightens his grip. “She’ll die if I leave her!”

“No, it’s too dangerous. They’re closing in,” he yells. Staying behind in a death wish, because Edelgard does not seem intent on letting servants of the Church get away. “You don’t owe Rhea anything!” 

“We can’t get answers if she’s dead!” She shouts back. Claude knows that she’s right, but in this moment, none of that seems to matter.

“I don’t care about answers!” He tells her, pulling her back towards the monastery. What good were the answers if he didn’t have _her?_ “We’ll find them some other way!” 

“I need the answers from her,” she protests, pulling in the opposite direction. “I don’t know who I am, Claude.” 

“Then let me stay and fight with you,” he begs. “You said we would do this together.” 

“No, not like this,” she refuses. “If the church falls here, you cannot fall with it. You have people to lead,” she reminds him. “Go, Claude!” 

“I’m not leaving without you!” 

Her whole face falls, but Claude stands firm. “Wait for me at the first checkpoint,” she commands. “If I’m not there in fifteen minutes, you need to leave.” 

“Byleth-” 

She pulls him into a tight hug, her lips nearly pressed to his ear. “I need you to go. Because I need you to keep an eye on Marianne,” she whispers. “Make sure she knows that you’re there for her,” she says. “I need you to remind Hilda to pick up an axe and train once in a while,” she says, her voice catching. “I need you to make sure Lysithea gets enough sleep, and that Raphael doesn’t eat any bad chicken,” she chokes out, and when her voice breaks, so does Claude’s heart. “Make sure that our Blue Lions don’t follow Dimitri’s madness, and that our Black Eagles know they have a choice.” She leans back, gripping his arms. “Promise me, please, that you’ll take care of your classmates.” 

He hates how much it sounds like a goodbye. 

“I promise,” he swears when he sees the tears prickling the corners of her eyes. 

“Okay. Now go. I’ll meet you there, promise,” she nods, sniffling. She shoves him back without another word, and he watches as she disappears into the fight, cutting her way through Imperial soldiers and running _towards_ the dragon.

“Claude!” Hilda lands beside him on her wyvern, a barely conscious Lysithea sitting in front of her. “We’re retreating! The rest of the Deer are waiting at the entry to Abyss, let’s go!” Without wasting another moment, he swings up onto the wyvern, bracing himself for a shaky ride.

They almost get taken down twice, but luckily Hilda is too determined to die, and steers them to safety, landing in front of Byleth’s room. The Deer are there waiting, and Hilda transfers Lysithea into Raphael’s arms, calling for Marianne. 

“We need to move, Claude!” Leonie yells as Ignatz directs students down into Abyss. Claude finally moves, but instead of heading towards his classmates, he bounds up the stairs to Byleth’s room, kicking the door down and rushing inside. He drops onto the floor, fingers feeling for that loose board and prying it up, reaching down into the hidden space. His hand finds the diary, and when he pulls it out, a small leather pouch drops into his lap. He doesn’t know what it is, but if it’s hiding in here, it must be important to her. 

He pockets the pouch and tucks the diary under his jacket. Now he’s ready.

  
  


__________

  
  


Claude barely registers the next few minutes. Balthus leads the group out the tunnel to the Alliance, and soon enough, they’re at the first checkpoint. He limps over to a nearby log, the adrenaline in his system is fading, and he’s feeling the extent of his injuries. 

Three minutes pass, and he watches blankly as more students arrive, bloodied and panicked. All the Deer are present and accounted for. 

Five minutes go by, and Marianne starts to cry as she works on an unconscious Lysithea. 

Seven minutes, and Judith shows up to escort him home. Apparently Byleth had written her about where to meet him. 

Ten minutes, and now Ignatz is asking about where the professor is. Claude is worried, dread creeping down his spine like a spider leaving a trail of silk.

The longest fifteen minutes of his life pass, and Judith demands that they leave now. _She promised,_ he insists, but Hilda is crying and Leonie is trying her best not to as Raphael wraps them both in a hug. 

Fifteen minutes pass, and Byleth does not show up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so sad...alexa play Unfulfilled.
> 
> Oh my...just like that we've finished White Clouds. Thank you so much to everyone who has followed this story so far. I truly appreciate every one of you, and especially those who commented! I love hearing your thoughts and feedback! You've all said such nice things, and words cannot describe how grateful I am. 
> 
> QUESTION (if you so desire): What was your favourite moment in White Clouds?


	12. eleven eighty-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> five year time skip dragged out to make it H U R T  
> (also i didn't want a 10k word chapter)

**_26th of the Blue Sea Moon, Imperial Year 1181_ **

**| D E N I A L |**

On the 26th of the Blue Sea Moon, Claude’s grandfather, Duke Oswald von Riegan, is finally laid to rest. He’d passed a week before Claude’s 19th birthday.

Claude had expedited the funeral planning, giving the nobles of the Alliance less than a week to travel to the capitol. He’d given the planners a tight budget - one certainly not fit for the funeral of the sovereign duke - but they couldn’t afford to be frivolous in times of war. The gathering would serve a dual purpose; a funeral for the previous duke, and the swearing in of a new one. With the threat of Imperial invasion looming over their heads, the Alliance needed a leader. 

After the burial, there was a reception in the grand ballroom of the Riegan Estate, allowing a chance for the guests to mingle in a more casual setting - it wouldn’t be a proper Alliance gathering without giving the nobles a chance to gossip. Claude stood at the entrance as guests arrived, shaking hands of counts and margraves and lords and ladies. He barely registered faces and names, the words ‘thank you for coming’ marked by stiff handshakes and awkward one-armed hugs. 

When everyone’s arrived, Claude floats around the room, making small talk with the nobles he’s about to take leadership of. He has his game face on now, all business as he endures their disapproving glances and smiles through their condescending, thinly veiled words. He’s still an outsider in their eyes, and he knows that nothing will change that, so he won’t bother to try. All he can do is make them see him as their leader, and getting sworn in as the Duke is the first step.

He feels a little better when he comes upon a table containing a few of his friends - people he knows won’t talk about him behind his back or interrogate him about his plans for the future. Lysithea, Hilda, and Marianne each give him a hug, asking how he’s been. Lorenz is the exception, but even he’s oddly somber today, offering him quiet condolences before returning to his cup of tea. Claude listens as his former classmates talk quietly amongst themselves, filling each other in on the past three months. He knows it hasn’t been awfully long since the fall of Garreg Mach, but trapped in Derdriu, it feels like forever. The saltwater air here is heavy with unfulfilled promises and deep regret.

“Does anyone know how Ignatz, Leonie, and Raphael are?” He asks, realizing he hadn’t heard from either three of them in a while. It was hard to keep track of them, as they were currently spread across the Alliance.

“Ignatz and Raphael are travelling on behalf of the Merchant’s Society,” Lysithea tells him. “They met up last month and last I heard, they were somewhere in Daphnel.” 

“Leonie is travelling with Captain Jeralt’s mercenary group,” Lorenz adds, exchanging a look with Hilda. “I received a letter from her a week ago. They’re…” he hesitates, and Claude notices the way everyone at the table averts their gaze away from him, and Lorenz seems to deflate. “...they’ve been looking for the professor.” 

Claude’s heart drops, guilt pooling in his stomach. He’d been trying his best not to think about her today. “Have...have they found anything? Anything to prove that she’s out there?” He looks around at his friends. “Actually, have any of you heard anything?”

No one answers for a minute. “I’m praying for her every night,” Marianne offers, and Claude nods numbly, but prayers weren’t enough.

“Anything at the Bridge, Lorenz? She’s kind of hard to miss.” It’s possible she could have ended up in Empire territory and is trying to find a way back into the Alliance. What if she was stuck at the Bridge? 

Lorenz shakes his head, and Claude curses. It’d been three months, if she wasn’t in the Alliance, where was she? The Empire wasn’t safe for Church folk, and with her hair? Byleth wouldn’t risk it. She wouldn’t go to Faerghus either, not with the Empire’s focus on weakening it’s border. Byleth was smarter than that. 

Lysithea frowns deeply. “Claude...it’s been a while. Do you think it’s possible that—” 

“No,” he snaps before she can finish. “She’s _not._ Don’t even think that.” She couldn’t be, he wouldn’t say it, refused to even entertain the possibility. Byleth was one with the goddess, it wasn’t possible.

Before he can say anymore, someone taps his shoulder. “Lord Riegan,” his advisor beckons, gesturing to the small stage. “It’s time for the ceremony.” 

Right. He would officially bear the weight of the Alliance today. Without Teach, it was basically the blind leading the blind.

He’s guided to the stage, claiming his seat at the centre of the long table, the rest of the Great Lords on either side of him. He’s easily three decades younger and three shades darker than the men beside him, and if he felt out of place before, he definitely felt out of place now.

Claude is barely listening as the speaker begins addressing the guests, giving some half-assed speech about freedom and responsibility, and new leadership under a new Duke Riegan. He speaks of his grandfather’s legacy, and how sad it was to see him go. Claude doesn’t cry. He didn’t know his grandfather well enough. 

He only begins paying attention when the document of official declaration is handed down the table, starting with the signature of Margrave Edmund. Next is Count Ordelia, followed by Duke Goneril, and finally Count Gloucester. He can practically feel the annoyance radiating from the man on his right with each rough scratch of the quill, before he shoves the paper towards Claude, huffing a little. With the signatures of the Great Lords, all that’s left for him to do is take the Oath. 

Standing and raising his right hand, he waits for his cue. 

“Is my Lord willing to take the Oath of the Alliance?”

“I am willing,” Claude says, albeit a little half-heartedly. The collar of his military uniform suddenly feels too restrictive, and he resists the urge to loosen it. Byleth was supposed to be here. 

The speaker nods. “Do you swear to observe the constitution and laws of the Leicester Alliance?” 

“I solemnly promise to do so,” he replies, gaze wandering to the faces in the crowd. He spots Hilda giving him a thumbs up and catches Marianne’s small smile. 

“Do you swear to govern its people with justice, righteousness, and loyalty?”

“I solemnly promise to do so,” he repeats, looking out into the crowd again. Lorenz gives him the slightest nod of...something that isn’t disapproval. 

“Do you swear to do right by those under your rule? To guide the members of the Roundtable with integrity?”

“I solemnly—” a flash of painfully familiar mint green in the corner of the room catches his eye, and his breath catches in his throat. He blinks a few times to ensure that his eyes don’t deceive him, the questioning tone of the speaker drowned out by the roaring rush of blood that travels to his head when his vision focuses and the mint green hair is still there, half hidden under a dark hood. 

It’s his Teach. His friend. His _Byleth_.

“My Lord?” 

“Excuse me…” he frowns, stepping off the stage and moving towards her, his heart racing as he pushes through the crowd. He hasn’t moved with this much purpose since arriving in Derdriu, but when he finally gets close enough to see her, his heart drops to the floor. 

The figure is much too small, at least two or three heads shorter than her, and when she turns around, the fire inside him dies. Her eyes widen in what he assumes is alarm.

Flayn. 

He opens his mouth to say something - anything - but before he can she grabs his wrist, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so small. “Not here,” she whispers harshly, leading him out of the ballroom and down the hall. Claude tugs them into an empty sitting room. After looking around a few times to ensure that they’re alone, Flayn removes her hood. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks, still reeling with disappointment. 

“We thought the professor might be here,” she admits quietly. “It seems that she is not, if you were assuming I was she.” 

He’s off his game he’ll admit, but he was just so excited…

“We’ve been looking for her and Rhea,” Flayn explains quickly. “We haven’t found anything. No bodies...but no evidence to prove that they’re on the move either. My brother and I hoped that either of them would return to us today.”

So the remaining faction of the Church had turned up empty handed too. The fact didn’t make Claude feel any better. “Why today?”

Flayn tilts her head, looking up at him quizzically. “Today is the Rite of Rebirth.” 

Realization washes over him. _The day the goddess will return to walk among us._ “I see. It would seem that we were both out of luck.” Each time he thinks he gets close, it slips through his fingers, leaving him with nothing; not a clue as to where she might be. As time goes on it’s as if fate only pulls her further away, taking small pieces of his heart with her.

Flayn stares at him a moment before throwing her arms around him. “It was good to see you, Claude. I must be off. Please do not speak of my presence here. We’re trying to move throughout Fodlan undetected until we gather more of the Knights.” 

He carefully hugs her back. If Seteth were here, he would be dead. “Take care of yourselves. If you need anything I’m here.” 

“Thank you. I wish you the best of luck,” she nods back before drawing her hood up over her head and turning out of the room.

When he’s alone again, Claude slumps down into one of the armchairs, burying his face in his hands. He needed a moment to collect himself before returning to the gaggle of nobles in the ballroom. One show of weakness and they’d be on him like vultures, and running out had already been inappropriate enough.

He hears the door creak open, but doesn’t look up. It’s probably Lorenz coming in to scold him or call him a disgrace. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture right now, Lorenz. I’ll be out in a minute,” he grumbles. 

“Is that any way to greet your guests, boy?” An alarmingly familiar and sharp voice asks. The voice cuts through the fog in his mind like a sharpened arrow, and his eyes fix on the woman in front of him, and even though her face is covered with a thick black veil, he knows exactly who it is. 

Lady Tiana von Riegan has come home.

 _“Maman,”_ he breathes, immediately jumping to his feet pulling her into a tight hug. “You’re here,” he whispers, feeling her fingers card through his hair as she hums. Claude closes his eyes and inhales deeply, breathing in the comforting scent of pine needles and warm spice. He feels like a little boy again, clinging to his mother as if his life depended on it. “You came back.”

“Of course I did,” she chuckles as she pulls away, allowing them both to regain their composure. “I couldn’t let you be alone for this. Now why did you run out of there so fast?”

Claude flushes at the thought of his mother watching him tear through the crowd. “I thought I found someone,” he admits. “Someone I’ve been looking for.”

“Your professor,” she nods, and Claude shoots her a questioning look. “Judith told me.” Of course she had. Judith had been the one that’d returned with him after the attack to pry through rubble. She’d also been the one to knock him out and drag him back home when he’d worked his hands bloody and raw. “I know she was special to you. You spoke highly of her in your letters.” his mother says softly, lifting the veil so he can see her face, green eyes identical to his own staring back at him. She looks different, a smidge older than she did three years ago, with smile lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes. 

“She’s missing,” is all he says glumly. “The others think she’s...but they’re wrong. She isn’t the type who dies, _maman._ ” Byleth was the person who, above all odds, always prevailed. Her strength and drive were unmatched in the face of adversary. Surely she couldn’t have fallen to the Empire. Claude refused to believe that.

“Then you do not stop looking for her,” she replies as if it’s simple. As if the continent hadn’t been plunged into war, with him leading a third of it. “But right now, all you can do is go out there and claim your Fodlan birthright. Start what you came here to do, and she’ll help you finish it. You just have to be patient. What’s meant to be will always find its way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, Hilda bodychecks Lorenz when he tries to finish the Oath, and Lysithea asks if they still get cake.


	13. eleven eighty-two

**_18th of the Verdant Rain Moon, Imperial Year 1182_ **

**| A N G E R |**

Claude waits anxiously at the dock, peering out at the murky ocean water through the heavy downpour of rain. It’s terrible timing for a thunderstorm, and the roll of thunder above only serves to darken his mood. Nature was wild and unpredictable, and traveling by boat during this time was always risky, but some things needed to be done.

When it rains like this, he’s painfully reminded of Byleth. He would never forget the week-long rainstorm that had raged over Garreg Mach. She’s there in each drop of water that soaks through his clothes and into his skin; cool, refreshing, and all encompassing. She’s in the ominous rumbles of thunder that seem to shake the earth, and with each crack of lightning he sees the blinding tear in space she once created. His Teach was a force of nature.

 _Is_ a force of nature _,_ he reminds himself.

He wonders if she’s caught in the rain too. Wonders if she’s found lodging, if she’s warm and safe. He wonders _where she is._

Claude doesn’t get to contemplate it any longer, because the helm of a ship breaks through the grey horizon, and Claude gives the signal to the navy guard, sending them to escort the oncoming ship to the dock. As the ship steadily approaches, he rechecks the supplies, making sure each crate of grains and food stores are accounted for. It’s nowhere near enough, but it’s all he can spare for now. 

The ship finally docks, and Claude quickly puts his men to work as the gangplank is lowered, and three figures exit the ship. The heirs of Fraldarius, Gautier, and Galatea approach him, hoods drawn over their heads in an attempt to stay dry, and he leads them to stand under the safety of a small gazebo.

“Welcome to Derdriu!” He shouts over the drumming of raindrops on the roof over their heads. Sylvain graces him with a hug, and Ingrid a firm handshake. Felix hangs back, giving him a nod in greeting. Despite the fact that it’s only been two years, they look at least a decade older, faces worn and tired lines on their foreheads. A streak of lightning flashes overhead, making Ingrid jump. “I hope you’re planning to stay the night!” Claude says as the downpour worsens, and it sounds like rocks are hitting the roof above them.

Ingrid frowns, watching as Claude’s men load the crates into their ship. “We have to get back as soon as possible. Cornelia is still invading our territories, we have to prepare for the fight.” A harsh gust of wind rose, stirring the flaps of their cloaks. “If we leave now, we can beat the worst of the storm and detour to Galatea instead of Fraldarius!” 

Two years have passed and even if she looks a little older, Ingrid is still as stubborn as ever. “The supplies won’t be of any use if they’re at the bottom of the ocean,” he reasons. Beside her, Sylvain bobs his head in agreement. 

In a rare move of solidarity Felix adds, “He’s right, we won’t be of any use at the bottom of the ocean either.”

Ingrid turns to stare out at the ocean, frown deepening as she takes in the dark, rocky waters and ceaseless downpour. “Alright. But the moment the rain stops—” 

“Yeesh, if you wanted to be rid of me that badly you could have just said so,” Claude jokes, earning himself a glare. “In the meantime why don’t we get out of this rain?”

__________

  
  


“And then Felix tells me to get a husband!” Ingrid shouts, slamming down her glass, Sylvain groaning at her sudden movement. “I mean, of all the sexist things-” 

Felix inhales sharply. “I didn’t mean it like _that._ ”

“Still a low blow, Felix,” Claude agrees, topping off Ingrid’s glass as the swordsman grumbles. They were waiting out the storm in his sitting room, where Sylvain had been very attracted to his grandfather’s old bar cart, and Claude had decided to open up the bottle of Almyran whiskey his father had sent over for his 20th birthday.

The bottle was empty now. 

Claude looks over the three Faerghan idiots sitting across from him on the couch. Felix’s slumps over the back of the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. Sylvain has his head in Ingrid’s lap, and his feet in Felix’s. Ingrid is the only completely conscious one in the moment, amber liquid sloshing around dangerously in her glass as she glowers at it, silently fuming. About what he isn’t sure, but as long as it isn’t him, Claude doesn’t mind letting them have their fun for the time being. 

It’s been a rough year for Faerghans. Six months ago, the Royal Line of House Blaiddyd had met its end in a tangle of murder and execution. A mage named Cornelia had usurped the throne shortly after the crown prince had been executed, and from there it had all gone to shit. Staggeringly high newly imposed taxes had crippled Faerghus’ economy, their people left starving, out of work, and out of resources. 

Four months ago, Cornelia had willingly forged an alliance with the Empire, and helped subjugate western Faerghus, reforming it into the Faerghus Dukedom. It’d started with the smaller territories, Gaspard, Gideon, even Dominic. Each of them quickly bent the knee, unable to properly rebel. Those loyal to House Blaiddyd, the Great Houses of Fraldarius, Gautier, Charon, and even Galatea were spearheading the resistance.

Claude had been writing with Annette, whose uncle had surrendered to the Empire. He knew she’d be the one to pick up on the coded messages he sent the fastest, and they’d been in cryptic contact for a little over three months now. Spies were hard to get in and out of the Faerghus Dukedom, but Annette kept him updated as best she could with snippets she’d overheard from her uncle. Things were bad in Faerghus, and it definitely showed on the three soldiers in front of him. 

“Ingrid,” he starts quietly, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “How are you guys, really? I know you were all friends with Dimitri,” his gaze wanders to Felix. “Mostly.” 

The only one conscious enough to answer, she leans forward, nearly tipping Sylvain’s head off her lap. “Honestly? I’m pissed.” 

Claude leans back in his seat. _Huh. Wasn’t expecting that one._ “At Cornelia?”

Ingrid huffs. “Obviously. But surely you’ve heard the rumours coming out of western Faerghus.” 

Ah, he’s heard the rumours through way of Annette. Rumours of a one-eyed demon with unmatched strength attacking Imperial platoons, leaving behind nothing but blood and carnage. “You think that’s Dimitri?” 

Her eyes momentarily flick towards Felix, and she lowers her voice. “Lord Rodrigue thinks so. He said that because the execution wasn’t public, and that no one was allowed to see the body, it’s possible that Dimitri might have escaped.”

“Shouldn’t that make you...relieved? Knowing he’s at least alive?”

Ingrid drains her glass, pursing her lips into a tight line. “I was relieved at first, don’t get me wrong. But after a month, I started to wonder why he hadn’t just come to us, his friends. Or to Lord Rodrigue at least.”

“You saw the state he was in the day Garreg Mach fell,” he reminds her, shuddering at the memory of the crown prince swinging his lance with wild abandon, a feral look on his face. “He’s not himself anymore.”

“Well he can’t win this war on his own,” she says bitterly. “We have the power of Houses Fraldarius and Gautier, but we’re barely hanging on.”

“He’s not trying to win the war, he’s trying to kill Edelgard,” Claude realizes. “That’s his way of ending the war.”

Felix shifts, bleary gaze still fixed on the ceiling as he spits “Well, if it really is the boar I know, he’ll kill himself trying. He’d probably kill any of us if we tried to stop him.”

Ingrid turns away, eyes glazed with unshed tears. Sylvain is awake, but stays oddly silent. They’re upset, angry, hurt. They’d been left behind by their childhood friend, someone important to them. “You can’t just give up on him. He’s lost, he still needs you to believe in him,” 

The three of them stay silent for a moment, and Claude wonders if projecting his own beliefs wasn’t the right move here. “I wish the professor were here,” Sylvain says quietly. “She’d know what to do.” He lifts his gaze to meet Claude’s. “Have you heard anything?”

“No,” he sighs. “I haven’t. Not a single clue, but I know she’s out there somewhere. She has to be.”

“If you’re so sure she’s out there, then why hasn’t she come back?” Ingrid asks sharply, and Claude opens his mouth to retort, but no sound comes out. “It’s been two years, Claude. If you haven’t found anything, maybe it’s time to consider the possibility that—”

“Don’t—” he snaps, closing his eyes. He’d spent the last two years trying not to think that way, because that way meant he’d given up. “She’s not—she can’t be. She wouldn’t just leave us. Byleth cut through the _sky_ to come back to us once. She’s one with the goddess, she can’t be dead.” 

_She wouldn’t leave me._

“Stop it!” Ingrid shouts suddenly, startling Sylvain and Felix and catching Claude off guard. “I am tired of being the only one calling things as they are. You need to stop daydreaming and wake up, Claude. It’s been two years - two! Dimitri and the professor are as good as dead, and you might as well accept that now. Sure, you can keep looking but you’re wasting time, because once the Emperor sets her sights on the Alliance, dwelling on the dead won’t bring them back or win this war.” Her entire face is red, a combination of barely suppressed anger and alcohol. Her hunched over posture exuded an animosity that was similar to acid - burning and potent.

Her every word stung like a white hot needle pressed into his skin, and rage hissed throughout Claude’s entire body like a deathly poison, demanding to be released. But who was he mad at? Was it Ingrid for calling him out and making a perfectly logical claim? 

Or was it at Teach, who wasn’t here when he needed her most? Who pushed him away that day and chose Rhea. 

_Fate brought us together that night and fate will have us see this through._

Had it all been a lie?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sylvain when ingrid leans over and her boobs are in his face: this is fine. totally platonic.


	14. eleven eighty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song to describe Claude's mood in this chapter: 
> 
> hopeless - Clinton Kane

**_7th of the Pegasus Moon, Imperial Year 1183_ **

**| D E P R E S S I O N |**

  
  


“Hey, friend. Welcome back.” 

Claude clasps Yuri’s hand tightly, giving it a firm shake. “It’s good to see you again. Though...I wish I could say the same of this place.” His heart had twisted in his chest the second the monastery entered his line of sight. 

Just a few minutes ago he’d stood in Byleth’s old room. On his way to Abyss, he’d been drawn to it, just like he had been years ago. It was as if she were there calling for him, and he was powerless to resist. He still saw the corners of papers sticking out the drawers, weathered by time but still there. The tactics primer that Jeralt had given her still sat on the shelf, a thick layer of dust adorning it like a second cover. He saw an empty bottle of blade oil sat next to the dried out ink pot - the one she’d been using on the last night they’d talked. For one blissful moment he was a student again, asking his new professor for tips on the assignment. A thinly veiled excuse to see the inside of her room and learn all her secrets. 

He’d stumbled out of her room and into Abyss with a heavy heart. It felt wrong to be in there without her. The monastery is haunted by traces of his Teach. 

Even as he follows Yuri down the dusty halls of Garreg Mach’s underground, he sees her presence in the shadows, constant, unwavering and following him everywhere. “Whatever you have for me, it better be good. It’s not often that the sovereign duke of the Leicester Alliance leaves his country in the hands of a…” Claude hesitates. How to describe Nader... “Uh, reliable retainer.” At least he hoped that he was. Running things in Almyra was different from running things in Fodlan. Maybe he should have asked Judith instead...

Yuri snorts, leading him into the Shadow Library. “And what an honour it is to have the grand and honourable Duke Riegan grace our dark and dirty halls. Trust me friend, you’ll want to see what I have.” 

“It must be really good if you couldn’t have just sent it to me,” Claude chuckles, pausing to breath in the nostalgic, musty scent of cellulose decay. Yuri rounded one of the desks, picking up a book and leafing through the brittle pages. Claude waits for his eyes to adjust under the dim candlelight before taking a look around.

Not much has changed in three years. Stacks of old books still lined the dusty old shelves, haphazardly thrown atop each other in precarious disarray. Claude ran his fingers over the worn spines of valuable first editions, uncovering swooping titles hidden underneath a layer of dust. Each book held its own world of mysteries and behind each cover laid undiscovered answers to questions from a time long forgotten.

Once upon a time, a library was a place where Claude didn’t feel the need to regulate his image. Surrounded by all this information, he’d once been powerless to stop the excitement pouring out of him like sunshine, his body tingling from head to toe with excitement. He would bounce around the room, prying books from shelves and devouring their contents under the warm glow of the candlelight. Once upon a time, this library was his happy place. 

“Here,” Yuri says, bringing him back to the cold, dark room they stood in and thrusting a book into his hands. “Thought you might want to be the one to read this. It’s so old that if I’d sent it over by air it probably would have disintegrated. ” 

Claude immediately flips the book over to read the cover, frowning slightly. “Encyclopedia of Fodlan’s Insects? Yuri, I’m no entomophobe or anything but if you called me here to show me a book about bugs-” 

He rolls his eyes, turning the book back over and pointing at the marked page. “Hey, never judge a book by its cover. Just read,” he urges.

So he does, sighing but turning his attention to the swooping script on the yellowed pages. 

_Distance Viewer (Based on Glasses): By combining glasses lenses, one can view great distances with enhanced clarity. Crafting such a tool was forbidden to a degree by the Archbishop for the following reasons. 1. The ease of locating enemy camps would escalate wartime violences. 2. It would be too easy to snipe from afar. 3. It would lessen the mystery of the Goddess, who watches from above._

Claude slowly lowers himself into a nearby chair, pushing aside a stack of books and setting his own down, looking up at Yuri. “What...what is this?” He’d never read anything like it before. 

Yuri leans against a nearby pillar, arms crossed over his chest as he shrugs. “Keep reading, it gets better.” 

_Flammable Black Water: A sticky black liquid was discovered in northern Faerghus. It burns furiously and emits a highly toxic gas. The use of this wicked substance was forbidden by decree of the Archbishop for the following reason: 1. Misuse could result in accidental death. 2. It could be used tactically by those lacking magical ability. 3. Competition for it would cause strife._

“Holy shit,” he breathes, rereading the words until they’re stuck in his brain. “This is...wow.”

Yuri hands him a piece of paper and pushes a quill and pot of ink towards him, and Claude hastily starts taking notes. “After the attack on the Great Bridge and Gloucester being forced to side with the Empire, you need every advantage you can get. That count is a slimy bastard and don’t you dare think for a second that he’ll be interested in playing nice with you after a move like that.” 

“Oh, I’m aware,” Claude sighs, recalling the last Roundtable meeting. They’d yelled at each other for hours, arguing over whether to totally submit to the Empire, resulting in the difficult but unanimous decision to split the country in half. Loyalties were beginning to divide, being tested, and now he was trying his best to convince his allies not to leave him and side with the Imperial faction.

Yuri takes a seat across from him. “Whatever this stuff is we should develop it. We can get our hands on some lenses and I have some excellent and reliable contacts all over Faerghus. We can get this...sticky black liquid and I can talk to Constance - she’s always looking for new projects. We can use this.”

“You’re not afraid of invoking the wrath of the goddess and the Archbishop?” Claude jokes, raising a brow. “You know, with this stuff being forbidden by the ‘decree of the Archbishop’ and all?” He adds, using his best impression of Seteth.

“I’m going to see the Eternal Flames anyway. I might as well snipe some Imperial jerks and flambe some Demonic Beasts on the way there,” he laughs, throwing his hands behind his head and leaning back in his seat. “So what say you, friend? Shall we proceed?”

He nods. “Oh, absolutely. Write to whoever you need and keep me posted. I’ll even send Lysithea your way. The kid is itching to pick up some new work and I need her out of my hair because she’s starting to drive me a little crazy.” He clears his throat, making his voice as high pitched as possible. “‘‘No feet on the table, Claude,’ ‘I can’t even read this missive, Claude,’ ‘Put away your teacups, Claude.’ ‘When was the last time you took a shower, Claude?’ It’s like living with my mom again, but meaner.” 

“Yeah, her voice could peel paint off walls. But without the professor around, someone has to keep you in line,” Yuri chuckles. Claude dips his head down, his chin pressed to his chest as he sighs. “Ah, shit,” he hears the man across from him groan. “I shouldn’t have brought that up, I’m sorry.” 

Claude shakes his head. “Uh, no, it’s alright. Did you have anything else that you wanted to show me?” He asks, more than ready to change the subject. 

Yuri seems to hesitate, but eventually gives in. “Just flip the page, second paragraph.”

He does that, finger skimming down the page. 

_Human Autopsies (Especially involving Head or Chest Incisions): Though it is widely believed to be medically relevant, such actions upon a corpse are considered desecration of the dead. Since white magic can be used to a similar end, autopsies were deemed taboo. A notable cardinal asserted that if medical science were to excel over faith-based white magic, it would destabalize the foundation of the church._

“Okay…” Claude starts slowly, rereading the paragraph. “What do you want to do with this exactly? Please don’t tell me you’re planning on cutting anyone open. Actually, please tell me that Constance isn’t cutting anyone open, I don’t want my insides turned into licorice.” 

He laughs, but Claude can sense the apprehension behind it. “Nothing like that, I...just hear me out, okay? There was a time where I didn’t trust the professor entirely and I read something about her in a diary that I found in her father’s office.” 

He narrows his eyes to slits. “You read Jeralt’s diary.” 

“...I did.” 

“That’s a breach of privacy.”

“And you breaking into her room on her second week here wasn’t?” Claude blinks a few times, unable to formulate a response. “Yeah, you weren’t the only one who watched people back then.” 

He half recovers, swallowing thickly. “So you know about…” Claude pats the area over his heart and Yuri nods. “What do you even expect to do with this?”

Yuri shifts in his seat, elbows on the table. “Banning _chest_ incisions? The Church looks guilty as heck. It just proves that Jeralt was right, Rhea did do something to his baby.” 

“Well that baby is gone,” Claude snaps. “Her corpse is probably buried under rubble or laying in some ditch in the middle of a forest or floating down some river.” 

“Hey, don’t say that. Just last month you were confident that she would be coming back,” Yuri frowns, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just thought you would want to know. Get some...closure.”

“Closure?” Claude laughs, shaking his head. “You thought this would give me closure? This gives me nothing,” he says, slamming the book shut. “This helps no one. I can understand flammable black stuff and distance viewers, but this helps no one. It can’t-” He stops, feeling the tears burn behind his eyes as he once again dips his head down, shutting his eyes until he feels the burn subside. “It can’t bring her back. It’s been three years and she hasn’t come back, She may never come back.” 

All at once he’s reminded of why he hates this place now. Why his body no longer tingles from head to toe with excitement, and this was no longer his happy place. It’s haunted by her traces, by memories of her. She’s in the brightest part of the candlelight, the core of the flames that light up the room and dazzles your eyes when you look at it. She’s in the chill of the shadows, running down his spine and setting in his bones.

When he closes his eyes, he can still see her sitting across from him at the table, nose stuck in her papers or in a book. She’s there smiling at him, the slight upcurve of her lips warming his heart.

  
  


_“I think...you have a really pretty smile,” he’d told her once in this very library, his heart fluttering in his chest as her smile widened._

_She’d blushed, her eyes momentarily widening in surprise. “Thank you. My father said I got it from my mother.”_

_“So you inherited the strength of the Blade Breaker and the face of a goddess,” he’d praised._

_She’d tilted her head at him, staring at him with that serious look of hers. “My mother wasn’t a goddess, she was a nun.”_

_Ah, his Teach. The strength of the Blade Breaker, the face of an goddess/nun, and the extremely literal mercenary that he’d come to love._

_“She could have been a goddess. Why else would Rhea have hidden her in Abyss?” He had pointed out._

_He watched as she gestured around them at the stacks of books that lined the dusty shelves, haphazardly thrown atop each other in precarious disarray. “You’re in luck, the answers have to be around here somewhere, and we have all the time in the world.”_

  
  


Claude sets his elbow on the table and rests a hand against his forehead, drawing a trembling breath as tears prick at the corners of his eyes again. “We spent nearly every night here looking for an answer. Now that I have it she...it’s too late.”

He hears Yuri move around in front of him, leaning against the corner of the table as he slides the book away and out of his sight. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up, that’s my bad. We can just forget we ever read it.”

“No,” Claude sighs. It was rare of him to lose his composure like that. “I’m the one that should be sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I’m just...I’m just tired.” 

Yuri shrugs, waving a hand. “I hear you loud and clear, it’s already forgotten. Can’t be easy trying to keep a sinking ship afloat.”

“Sinking ship? I’ll have you know-”

“Claude,” he deadpans, “I’m not saying I understand your situation completely. What I’m saying is I know what it’s like to be a leader. You need to...turn off that part of your brain that feels. Whenever you feel something, you shove it down and just keep working.” 

“I’m fine,” Claude dismisses. The last thing he needs is to talk about with Yuri or anyone else is his _feelings._

But Yuri shakes his head. “You’re not, and I’m giving you a chance to talk about it in a safe space where not much gets out if I have any say in it. I’m not going to let you go back to your band of vultures with snot and tears running down your face. You look pathetic right now and the second they see you they’ll tear you shreds.”

It’s a harsh reality, yet he can’t help but chuckle at his spymaster’s shrewdness as he swipes the tears away with the back of his glove. “Okay, fine. Sure you can handle it, because I’m kind of a mess right now.”

“Have you _heard_ the way Constance talks under the light of day?” 

Claude sucks in a breath. He hardly knew where to start. “I feel...lost. This war keeps throwing things in my face and I sit in my office and come up with fixes and schemes every single day, and then go to bed and I lay there thinking, second guessing myself. Because no matter what I seem to do, the Empire creeps closer and closer. The Bridge was a warning volley.” 

“You made the right call though, refusing to help Gloucester and letting the Empire take control of the Bridge. You can’t afford to lose the thousands of soldiers you would have if they’d put on repeated attacks,” he points out.

“And now Lorenz probably hates me more than he did in the Academy and his father is probably gonna try to off me like he did my uncle.” Yuri doesn’t say anything, oddly quiet. “What I’m saying is that...with every move I make, I lose more than I gain. Each time that happens it’s like I’m losing a part of myself. I had things that I wanted to accomplish when I came here. Dreams I wished to see to fruition. But it’s like a part of me died that day - the day Edelgard attacked Garreg Mach. And I guess being here reminds me of that. At least in Derdriu I can drown myself in work and turn my brain off and forget about it.” He swipes away another stray tear, hoping Yuri doesn’t catch it. “Being here just reminds me of all the dreams I had and people that I failed.” 

It was the classroom, once filled with the laughter and life of the Golden Deer. People he once considered his friends, who he now barely saw or wrote with on a monthly basis, spread across the country. It was Lysithea, who was living at his estate in Derdriu because he’d let the Empire in and take control of her home, and she couldn’t stand to be there. It was Lorenz, whose family had been strong-armed into cooperation with the enemy. It was the Blue Lions who were starving and bleeding and broken across the border, and the handful of Eagles that were fighting their homeland, against family and friends.

It was the library, with its old books and flickering candlelight. It was her presence in the shadows and her warmth in the candlelight. It was Byleth’s room, with its empty bottles of blade oil and dried up ink pot. It was moonlit walks and garland weaving and laughter and fun and joy and evil pegasi. It was self-discovery and realization and breakthroughs. Garreg Mach was a place of cherished memories that were now bittersweet, and gone was the idealistic boy who dreamed of creating a better world. All that was left was the hollow shell of a once lively place, and a master tactician who schemed and plotted and lied to gain the upper hand.

He doesn’t like the way Yuri looks at him, hates that sad look in his eye. Claude never liked being pitied. Regardless, Yuri sighs, levelling him a steady gaze. “War is traumatic. Even during the Academy, a lot of the things we went through were traumatic, and trauma leaves a scar. It’s ugly and it’s painful and it messes everybody up, no matter how tough they think they are. It follows you home and changes your life. Letting go of that trauma is the easy part, but it’s the moving on that’s painful. Although, maybe that’s the point. It makes us move forward and forces us to grow.” He places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You’ve grown a lot since the first day I met you. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

He watches as Yuri pushes off the table. “I’m gonna get a drink if you wanna come with. Oh, and Claude? The professor chose you, and I knew her well enough to know that she believed in you, and knew that you would be a great leader someday. She even made me promise to help you achieve that excellence. She’s strong and an excellent judge of character, and Claude, I’ve seen her tear through the sky and kill an Umbral Beast, and know for a fact that she’s a tactical genius and an exceptional fighter. There’s no way she could have died that day. I don’t know where she is, but don’t you dare give up on her, because she never once gave up on you.” 

__________

  
  


Claude ends up staying the night, and after thanking Yuri and saying goodbye, he decides to make one more stop before leaving the monastery.

“Hello, sir,” he says to the gravestone, reaching down to pull out some stray weeds. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by. I’m sorry if you’ve been lonely.” He jerks out a particularly tough weed, tossing it aside. “I want you to know that I haven’t given up on your daughter. I’ve spent a lot of time looking for her, and I admit, I was doubting myself for a while, but not anymore. I refuse to believe that she’s the type of person who would roll over and die in a place like this. She’s stronger than that. I know because you taught her, and she had the strength to teach me.” 

He closes his eyes, imagining how different things might have been if she were here with him. “I meant what I said, all those years ago. Do you remember? When you casually held me at knifepoint in your office?” He chuckled at the memory, recalling how nervous he’d been. He was still nervous, in a way. “She really does bring out the best in me, and I know without a doubt that it’s true because she’s not by my side right now, and I’m hanging on by the skin of my hide, sir.” 

There’s no answer, of course, but he imagines Jeralt fixing him with that condescending but amused ‘I told you so’ look. The look only an Eisner could pull off. “So I know it’s selfish of me, but I really hope she’s still here, and hasn’t joined you in whatever afterlife you’re drinking beer in. But don’t worry, captain, I’ll bring her to visit you soon.” 

With nothing more to say, he turns on his heel and makes his way towards the stairs. His head feels clearer that it had been yesterday, less muddled than when he’d first arrived. He feels lighter, no longer allowing himself to be trampled by memories. Sometimes one has to let go of the life they’d expected to live, and start living in the one they’re given in order to truly move forward. 

As he nears the top of the stairs, a gentle brush of wind passes by him, stirring up the collar of his cloak and running down his cape. He could have very well imagined it, but it was almost as if the quiet breath of wind carried its own whisper of words.

_Thank you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while claude and yuri share a drink, claude admits that he used to be jealous of him, and yuri admits that he knew and did it on purpose because it was funny to watch.
> 
> _____
> 
> depression and grief are different for everyone, and affect us all in different ways. I know these are especially trying times, so if anyone ever needs to talk, I’d happily lend an ear! just say the word!


	15. eleven eighty-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fun song I thought of for the time skip:  
> Talking to the Moon - Bruno Mars

**_14th of the Garland Moon, Imperial Year 1184_ **

**| B A R G A I N I N G |**

  
  


“For the last time, if it’s not of military or financial importance, reschedule it,” Claude groans, rubbing his temples. “And if it’s about my personal life, cancel it for all I care.” He doesn’t have to look up to know that his advisors are exchanging pained looks right about now, and he really can’t bring himself to care. 

“As Duke it would be in your best interest to at least consider some of these options,” they continue to press anyways, sliding the papers back across his desk. “They’re quite excellent.”

“I don’t want to hear about those options though, I want to talk numbers,” Claude deflects again. “What are we doing about our emergency funds?” He questions, leaning back in his seat as he picks up the sheets in front of him. “I’m not seeing any numbers on these papers, guys. Let’s get the right ones out please.” Was he not being clear enough?

No one moves, all twiddling their thumbs as they watch him. “We think it’s time you take a look at those,” one of his advisors says. “With the war making its way to our doorstep, the preservation of our most prominent houses is extremely dire. As the leader of House Riegan, it would be in your best interest to sire an heir to further ensure your house’s survival should anything unfortunate befall you.”

Claude can barely hold back his chuckle. “Yeah, I’m sure you and everyone else would miss me a lot, should anything ‘unfortunate’ befall me.” No one laughs at his half joke, and Claude shifts uncomfortably in his seat. His group of advisors have always been a tough crowd. “Okay, if I promise to take a look at these,” he waves the stack of letters in the air. “Will you stop asking me about it until I’ve made my decision?”

They all murmur in what Claude decides to interpret as agreement, sighing and shrugging their shoulders. “Okay, great. I’ll consider my options later. For now let’s talk about funds please, I want to be sure we’re prepared for whatever comes our way.” 

**__________**

  
  


One of the most fascinating aspects of human life is how one chooses a mate. It’s a selective, compensatory process in which individuals combine scores on several key attributes. It’s an exchange theory of sorts, and people pick mates based on who best completes them. Supply and demand, individual circumstance, biology and psychology, religion, race. There were many factors that contribute to the selection of a desirable mate. 

That’s what Claude had been taught, at least. But it’s more than science, it was something beyond the preconceived laws of attraction. It’s respect and support, communication and cooperation, trust and reliability. Ultimately, it was love. 

As one of the foremost leaders of the Alliance, this particular area of his private life had come under close scrutiny by the public as of late. He was young, single, powerful, and devastatingly handsome, so why hadn’t he married yet? Lack of...options was definitely not an issue. He’d received dozens of letters from prospective houses, though they were oftentimes pushed to the corner of his desk, never to see the ink of his quill. 

But that’s what made it so hard, and why he’d put it off for so long. It wasn’t just random lords and counts making offers. They were the parents of his _friends._ Claude looks over the top three envelopes, marked by the seals of Houses Goneril, Ordelia, and Edmund. 

Hilda, Lysithea, and Marianne. According to his advisors, they were his top three options, and from a purely logical standpoint, they made sense. In the world of politics, power was attracted to power. What better way to achieve that than marrying within the houses of the Roundtable? No matter who he went with, only good things would come of the union.

Even so, Claude found it was laughable, imagining himself wed to one of his friends. It wasn’t that they were undesirable in any way. They were lovely people inside and out and those he considered to be amongst his closest friends. But this was _Hilda, Lysithea,_ and _Marianne._

Marianne was a complete sweetheart, and if the latest Roundtable meetings were any indicator, an up and coming orator. Her growing political prowess would be extremely beneficial to House Riegan, and her devotion to the Church of Seiros would draw the devout to his side. But to Claude, she would always be shy and timid Marianne, who would rather talk to animals than people. The girl who believed herself a burden, whose smiles were hard won, gentle and sweet. Claude sighs, pushing the House Edmund proposal to the side and moving on.

Lysithea...Claude could say a lot of things about her. The youngest student in the Academy, and by far the most gifted. She’d been adept at whatever skill Byleth had challenged her with, and she mastered spells with incomprehensible ease. Ever since the Empire had taken control of the southernmost Alliance territories, Claude had given her a room in his estate, and _that_ was the closest thing to marriage he would ever allow himself to experience. But even though she nagged on him day in and day out, she still brought a level of professionalism of someone beyond her years to the table. As of late, they’d devised tactics and she’d helped him with administrative duties, her work impeccable, as always. But he would never in a million years see her as his wife. She was more of a little sister. Claude shakes his head, setting the House Ordelia proposal atop House Edmund’s. 

Claude runs his finger over the wax seal inlaid with House Goneril’s crest. It went without saying that under different circumstances, this would be his number one choice. The Gonerils were a powerful and highly acclaimed family, with many supporters and even more allies. With Goneril came easy access to Fodlan’s Locket and well, one could see how that would benefit him. There was only so much he could do as Duke Riegan, but it’d be much easier to bust it open from the inside. In this situation he’d never consider it, solely due to the fact that this was _Hilda._ She’d grown over the years, but in a sense was very much the same, leaving most duties to her brother, who Claude also liked. Claude did love her, but it was a general, companionable love. She was his closest friend, nothing more, nothing less. 

“Me marrying Hilda,” Claude mutters, sweeping the three envelopes into a drawer and hiding them away. “Not a chance.” He’ll just deal with this another day. At least he looked at them. 

“Ouch, hard no on that one?” 

Claude almost laughs. Talk about timing. “Hey, Hilda,” he sighs, looking up to see her sauntering into his office. She waggles her fingers in greeting, dropping down into the chaise across from her. “What are you doing here? If you’ve come to ask me to wax the scales of your wyvern again, I’m kind of busy.”

She scoffs, flicking her pink hair over her shoulder as she languidly stretches. “Do I have to need something? Can’t I visit my dear old friend for no reason at all?”

“I’ll believe that the day wyverns stop flying,” Claude snorts, walking around his desk and leaning against it, hands gripping the edge and ankles crossed as he watches her. “Seriously, what are you doing here? The next Roundtable isn’t until next week.”

“Fine,” she huffs, pouting up at him. “My father wanted me to ask about where you stood on the whole...proposal thing. It’s been a year, Claude, and you haven’t said anything.” She averts her gaze to the floor, and Claude stares up at the ceiling. It’s rare to hear Hilda so uncomfortable, and it’s even rarer for him to be. 

“I’ve been busy,” he shrugs when they finally make partial eye contact. “I don’t have time to think about that stuff.” It’s not a total lie. His days were spent coordinating troop movements, rationing supplies, and maintaining balance with the Imperial faction. He really didn’t have time to even consider marriage, so how would he ever manage having a wife or raising a kid when he barely had time for himself?

Hilda shakes her head at him, strands of pink hair falling into her face. “You said that when I asked six months ago.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Hil, but we’re kind of at war.” 

“I know that, and believe me when I say that marrying you is at the very bottom of my list of ‘to do’s,’” she replies flippantly. “It’s just that...people are starting to talk, you know?”

Claude leans forward, searching her face for a shred of mirth. He doesn’t find it. “What are they saying?” 

“That you’re in love with a dead woman.” 

It’s like she’d thrown an invisible axe into his chest, the blow devastating and painful. “W-What? Why would they even say that?”

She seems to hesitate, and Claude doesn’t like where this is going. He’d rather be waxing the scales of her wyvern. “The Roundtable members,” she mumbles. “At every meeting in the past year you’ve brought the professor up. How she’ll be our saving grace.” 

Claude pauses. “It can’t have been every meeting.” 

“It has been,” she exclaims, arms flailing. “I know because my brother and father talk about it after every meeting. They say you’re hanging the Alliance’s future on the hopes of a ghost.” 

Okay, so maybe he’d been talking Byleth up lately, but that didn’t mean he was hanging all their hopes on her. He just wanted to prepare them for the moment she re-entered the fold. He had big plans for her after all. “You don’t think she’s coming back?” He bristles, wondering if he’ll defend her honour to Hilda too.

“I’ll believe whatever you believe,” she hums, offering him a small grin. “You’re a lot of things, Claude, but you aren’t crazy.” 

He blinks at her a few times. “Uh, thanks?” 

“That being said, if I ask you something, can you promise not to lie or give me some half truth?”

“I’ll try my best.” He wouldn’t call himself a liar, but he doesn’t make promises like this lightly.

It’s unusual to see Hilda look so serious, her face set in a line. “Are you in love with her?”

“What?” Claude deflects, even though he heard her loud and clear. He just needed to process the question. _Am I in love with Byleth?_

“Are you in love with the professor,” Hilda repeats, eyes narrowing as if she knows he’s stalling.

“Oh…I see.” It isn’t as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind before. When choosing a mate, it always comes back to love, the most perplexing part of the human experience. It’s more than an emotion, and operates at a level so deep that it’s impossible to control. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. 

“I think you do,” she says, that sneaky smile of hers returning to her face. “You know how I know?”

“Enlighten me, please,” Claude invites. He’s interested to see what Hilda, a self-proclaimed romantic, makes of his unique situation. Even Claude himself didn’t understand it, so how could she?

“You always say that you don’t make moves unless you can gain from them, right? Right now, marriage is in your best interest. You know better than anyone that in the world of the nobility, marriage is more of a contract than anything else. It’s sharing power, land, money, resources. I know you, and I wouldn’t put it past you to marry in order to further your own goal. It’s been three years since you’ve started getting proposals, and if you aren’t marrying yet, it’s because you’re waiting for someone. Someone you really...want.” 

Claude can’t help but be caught off guard by her observation. She’d always been brutally honest with him, but when had Hilda so perceptive? He opens his mouth to respond, to tell her that she’s wrong or at least not entirely correct, but he can’t. He doesn’t know. 

Hilda hops off the chaise, straightening her skirt. “I’ll tell my dad you’re still thinking about it. But Claude, everyone’s known you’ve had a thing for the professor since the Academy. You seem to be the only one who hasn’t figured it out yet.” With that she leaves, taking her invisible axe with her and leaving Claude with a gaping wound in his chest.

Claude slumps into his chair, staring hard at the wall, thinking. He knew a bit about love. Love was leaving behind everything you’d known and travelling to another country to be with your other half. It was braving discrimination and hatred to be with them. Claude had grown up with a great example of love. He’d known familial love and companionate love. Those were great feelings. The feeling that made you warm and fuzzy on the inside.

The only love he hadn’t yet had a personal brush with was romantic love. Or so he thought.

But how does one know they’re in love when the person is no longer at their side? When their other half is missing?

Claude finds himself grasping the key to his locked drawer. He knew one person who might. Within seconds, Jeralt’s diary now lays open on his desk, and Claude carefully leafs through the pages, skimming their contents for keywords. 

He lands on the Garland Moon. The month of garlands and romance. 

_Day 7 of the Garland Moon, 1158_

_Sunny. Sitri gifted me a garland made of the white roses I picked for her today. The smile that graced her face when I told her I loved her was more radiant than the sun itself. She asked how I knew, and the answer came easily. Love is like a craving, a need to be with a particular person, physically and emotionally. It strikes like lightning; unpredictable and irrefutable. It’s security, respect, and commitment. Most importantly, it’s drive; wanting more than anything to be with your person, no matter what._

  
  


Claude reads the words over and over again until they’re memorized, drawing every bit of meaning he can from them. It’s a pretty response, and back then if anyone were to have told him that the Blade Breaker had written it, he wouldn’t have believed them. 

Somewhere in the whirlwind of moonlit walks, garlands, library sessions, and shared dances, Claude supposed he might have felt something deeper for his professor. His seventeen year old self would have definitely repressed the feeling, knowing full well the impropriety of courting a teacher. 

That being said, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t wake up at the crack of dawn just to walk her to their classroom. It also wouldn’t be untrue to say he enjoyed the days he zoned out in class, because it meant she’d stay behind and tutor him. And if he said his eyes hadn’t wandered to less appropriate regions when she bent over to pick up a piece of chalk...he’d be lying. 

What? Sylvain did it too.

Oh, and there was that time in the cathedral when he’d almost kissed her, can’t forget about that. His cheeks went hot just thinking about it. 

So yes, he supposed he had harboured some form of affection for her then. It was a harmless schoolboy crush, and it definitely wasn’t just him. Byleth was popular amongst the student population, and the dozens of garlands she received and dances she was offered was evidence enough. 

The question was, did she reciprocate those feelings? He definitely couldn’t speak for her, but a small, very tiny part of him guessed she might have. There was just something about the way she’d looked at him on their last night together, something about the way she’d spoken. Her viridian eyes shining, her soft voice catching as she told him she was grateful for their time together. Remembering it made him feel warm inside. 

If he’d _told_ her, would it have made a difference? Would it have been enough? If love truly was drive and she knew he loved her too, would she have stayed? 

His eyes flick over a nearby calendar. He’d have to wait a little longer to find out. 

Claude sighs, shutting the diary and reopening his drawer. As he returns it to its place, he takes extra care not to crush the delicate petals of the white rose garland. It’s starting to wilt again, so he’ll have to get Lysithea to cast another heal spell soon. 

Hopefully Byleth will get the chance to make him a new one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hilda is looking forward to the millenium festival because she can’t take any more of claude’s pitiful pining.


	16. eleven eighty-five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used in this chapter:
> 
> Harvest Moon - Neil Young

**_20th of the Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1185_ **

**| A C C E P T A N C E |**

  
  


Sleep. It’s one of the easiest things to do. All one has to do is close their eyes and drift off into dreamland. When humans don’t get enough sleep, the result is something beyond bleary eyes and gaping yawns. It’s fatigue, irritability, forgetfulness. As a man leading his country through war, sleep often alluded him. He’d spent many nights at his desk, burning through candles and draining mugs of coffee. He’d work until dawn, take a nap at his desk, and then do it all over again. The vicious cycle due to human biology.

Claude wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep an entire day away, but the demands of Duke Riegan stole any moments of respite. Physicians recommend seven hours of sleep on a daily basis, but if Claude was counting correctly, he hadn’t slept properly in...almost four days now. With the harvest season upon them, he’d been stuck in his office for a week now, planning for the annual Harvest Moon festivities that happened to line up with yet another Roundtable conference. War or not, the nobles love a good party.

From up on the dais of the Riegan estate’s ballroom, Claude oversees the festivities. After a tense dinner, it was necessary that he catch a breath before immersing himself within the crowd again. His body feels heavy today and he’s exhausted; feeling both physically and mentally drained. For now, he slumps against the bannister, nursing a glass of wine from the Edmund region. Claude’s tired gaze wanders around the room, searching for familiar faces. 

Hilda and Holst shove each other playfully in front of the buffet table, no doubt fighting over the steaks. Marianne and Lysithea huddle together at a table, sharing a plate of desserts. Raphael and Ignatz stand at the door, chatting with a few knights, most likely sharing stories of their travels. Leonie and Lorenz appear to be...sharing a dance. In public. An awfully close dance.

Claude sets down his glass of wine and rubs his eyes. He must be seeing things. 

His advisor comes by to drag him downstairs, and Claude reluctantly follows. In the five years he’s been Duke, he’s learned that he’s not allowed to have off days. He’d learned that no matter what he was feeling, he had to push it down into a tiny, tiny box and store it away until the job was done. It’s usually a lot easier for him to plaster a smile onto his face and endure the mind-numbing small talk, but today he can’t find the energy.

He’s nudged in the direction of the one person he’d wanted to avoid tonight. “Duke Riegan.”

Claude doesn’t even bother to suppress his groan. Count Gloucester stands in front of him, basking in all his holier-than-thou glory. “Count Gloucester. I’d say it’s nice to see you but you did tell me to stop lying.” 

“Insubordination,” the Count mutters, and Claude finally sees where Lorenz gets that condescending look from. “You should learn your manners, boy.”

“I still outrank you,” Claude retorts. He’s not in the mood to deal with him right now. He’d already gotten to hear an earful of his thoughts during the Roundtable earlier today. “In the eyes of the Alliance and the goddess, I outrank you.” 

“The goddess?” Count Gloucester barks, throwing his head back as he laughs, drawing the attention of those standing nearby. Once the onlookers register who exactly is arguing, they merely go back to their drinks and conversation. It isn’t uncommon to see Duke Riegan and Count Gloucester at each other’s throats. “Tell me, boy, do you speak of the actual goddess or that false goddess you preach - that professor?”

Claude feels the vein in his forehead start to throb. He doesn’t have many sore points, but that was as close as one could get. “False goddess? Even your son saw her wield the Sword of the Creator and use it to step out of a hole in the sky.” Claude yanks his arm out of his advisor’s grip, turning away to stomp off, but not before he tells the Count off one last time. “You’ll eat your words one day, Gloucester. You’ll see.”

He pushes through the crowd, too tired to even bother trying to weave through it, and doesn’t stop until he’s stumbling out into the gardens, surrounded by the vibrant hues of gold and scarlet foliage. He slumps back against the fountain, it’s stagnant water blanketed with fallen leaves. Claude back slides down until his bottom hits the dirt, and if he weren’t so tired, he’d be cursing at ruining a good pair of slacks.

There’s a certain calmness outside, away from the festivities. Claude lets the breeze flutter over him, rich with the aroma of the earth, and listens to how it rustles the brittle leaves until they fall from their branches, dancing through the air until they reach the ground. He’d always liked autumn. The days wane, the nights close in, and the ground is colourful and bright. In Derdriu, the humid saltwater air turns thin and crisp. There’s no bite of winter, just a gentle nip to remind him of the changing seasons. 

Claude looks up at the full moon shining above, further igniting the fiery hues around him. Byleth had always liked autumn. She liked the sound of the leaves crunching beneath her boots, and the warmth of sitting in front of fires drinking mulled cider with her father. She loved the thrill of hunting and the satisfaction of filling sacks with game. Harvest season was her favourite time of the year. 

His eyelids feel heavy, and for the first time in a while, he lets them slip shut. “I miss you,” he whispers, hoping the wind will carry his words with it.

“Claude? I apologize if I’m interrupting your prayer.”

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s Marianne. “I’m not praying. I’m talking to Byleth.”

“Oh, well I just wanted to tell you that the band is starting to play, and everyone is looking for you,” she informs him, and Claude nods in acknowledgement.

“Just let me finish up here. I’ll be inside in a minute,” he sighs, listening as the hem of her dress brushes through the scattered leaves. As he listens, he can hear the strings and percussion of a mellow folk tune start up. It’s peaceful outside, and he’s instantly lulled by the soft music and the bracing breezes. But he can’t stay out here forever, and he’s expected to go inside and dance. He’ll have to find Hilda, because she’s always been good at leading. He’s about to open his eyes when he hears a new sound.

Footsteps fall on cobblestone, and the tread is painfully familiar. In the Academy, he’d trained himself to memorize the pattern of the professors footfalls. Nightly room checks were mandatory, and what he could get away with depended on who was on duty.

The footfalls he hears now are slow but steady, stepping heel to toe so the sound would be barely noticeable to anyone else, but not him.

Excitement, fear, and confusion force Claude opens his eyes, and when he does, his heart stops. 

A few feet away from him stands Byleth, tea green hair reflecting in the moonlight. She’s still wearing the Academy’s dark evening wear, and she’s _smiling._

Claude rubs his eyes furiously, then squints. She’s still there, and now her hand is outstretched, her palm upturned, beckoning him.

“Teach?” He asks weakly, slowly pushing himself up and onto his feet. He approaches her carefully, as if she were an animal he didn’t want to frighten away. She looked exactly like he remembered. It was her, and she was here. Byleth was here.

When she speaks, all the hairs on his body stand on end. “Don’t keep me waiting,” she says, her hand now reaching for him. “You still owe me a proper dance.” He closes the distance between them and takes her hand, choking back a sob when it closes around his, enveloping it in warmth. Her free hand reaches for his, and places it comfortably on her hip before grasping his bicep softly. “Well? Are we going to dance?”

Claude is too afraid to move, as if he’ll breathe and she’ll disappear in a puff of smoke. Even as she starts humming, gently swaying them to the music drifting around them. 

_Come a little bit closer_

_Hear what I have to say_

“What are you doing here?” He asks, still unable to completely process what’s going on. He can feel and see her, but something seems off. 

She tilts her head as she looks up at him. She seems smaller than he remembers. “For you,” she grins cheekily, as if the answer is obvious. “I’m here for you.” 

_Just like children sleeping_

_We can dream this night away_

“Why?” He can’t help but ask. “Why now?”

There’s a mischievous glint in her eye, one he’d never seen before. “Maybe Sothis took pity on you tonight.” The hand on his bicep reaches up, and he flinches as her thumb traces the bags under his left eye. 

_But there’s a full moon rising_

_Let’s go dancing in the light_

“Your dancing is a lot tamer now,” she observes as he leads them in a slow box step. 

“I’ve had five years of practice,” he reminds her. _Five years of dancing without you,_ he wants to say. _Where were you?_ He wants to ask, but at the moment, he can’t bring himself to.

_We know where the music’s playing_

_Let’s go out and feel the night_

“I needed you,” he says desperately, his hand tightening around her hip. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to tell her exactly all the times he’s needed her in the past five years

Her brow raises slightly. “You needed my sword, you mean?”

Claude’s cheeks glow at the age old accusation. “No, it’s more than that. It’s…” He trails off, unable to cap off his sentence.

_Because I’m still in love with you_

_I want to see you dance again_

_Because I’m still in love with you_

_On this harvest moon._

“It’s what, Claude?” She presses, her smile not wavering as she regards him with that perceptive stare of hers, picking him apart like she used to.

He shakes his head. “You mean more to me than that. You’re more than a weapon, more than a piece on a board.” 

“Am I?”

He squeezes her hand lightly. “You are. You’re everything.” 

_When we were strangers_

_I watched you from afar_

She doesn’t look convinced, the right corner of her lip twitching downwards in the way it did when she was confused. “It may have been that way at first, but things are different now. I’m different now,” he clarifies.

“Because of the Academy?” She asks, honestly looking lost. Sure, he owed a lot of things to the academy, but mostly because it brought him to her. 

“Because of you.” 

_When we were lovers_

_I loved you with all my heart_

“Our hearts are connected,” he grins, and she shoves him playfully. 

“How could I forget?” She laughs and the sound wraps around his heart like a vice. “That was one of the sappiest things you’ve ever said to me.”

“Hey, don’t tease,” he pouts. “I was being genuine!” 

_But now it’s getting late_

_And the moon is climbing high_

He hears his friends calling for him in the distance, and Byleth’s body jerks, a frown marring her smooth features. “You need to go,” she says in a low voice, but Claude tightens his grip on her hand and hip, pulling her body flush against his. There was no way he was letting her go again. 

“No, I want to stay here with you. We can talk to them later,” he shrugs, but her frown only deepens. 

“Your friends still need you,” she says softly.

“We need you,” he insists. “I need you.” That seems to calm her down, and he feels her relax against him.

_I want to celebrate_

_See it shining in your eye_

“You know it’s your birthday today, Teach?” 

“I know,” she nods, and for some reason she sounds sad, resting her head against his chest. If he were younger, he would have blushed at the contact.

“As my gift to you, I’ll tell you a secret. Do you want to hear?” He offers, sending her a coy smile. 

“From you, always.”

“I kind of threw this party for you,” he admits sheepishly, cheeks burning. It was the only reason he’d spared funds to celebrate the harvest. It was a tribute. For all the birthdays she never got to celebrate.

“Why?” She asks curiously, looking up at him with those shining eyes he missed so much.

_Because I’m still in love with you_

_I wanna see you dance again_

_Because I’m still in love with you_

_On this harvest moon_

“Because I miss you,” he answers simply. 

Her gaze falls. “Claude...”

“And I need you,” he admits quietly. “More than I’ve ever needed anything in my life.”

“That’s not true,” she scolds lightly. “You’ve never needed anyone other than yourself.” 

It’s true. He’d been taught from a young age that self-reliance was important. In this world, you couldn’t trust anybody but yourself. 

“I don’t want to do it by myself anymore,” he tells her. “I can’t,” he says, voice catching in his throat.

She drops her hands, taking a step backwards and out of his reach. “I’m sorry,” she frowns again, a single tear falling from the corner of her eye. “You have to. Just a little while longer.” 

He feels panic bubble up in his chest again, the way it had when he’d first let her go. “Byleth, wait!” Claude reaches for her, but when he takes a step in her direction, he’s immediately yanked backwards. 

_“Claude!”_

Claude’s eyes shoot open, his body stiff as a board as he blinks the world back into focus. Judith kneels beside him, shaking his shoulder, concern overtaking her features. “Judith?” He asks groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looks around her, seeing nothing but empty air. “What...where is she?” It was as if she’d disappeared into thin air again, leaving no trace behind.

Judith places a hand on his forehead, ignoring his weak protest. “You sure you’re alright, boy? I found you asleep out here out here. Alone.” 

“I’m...I’m fine,” he says, his posture deflating. Had he dreamt the whole interaction? “She seemed so real,” he tells her, aware of how strange he must sound. “I could touch her, talk to her…She talked to me.” 

Judith leans back on her heels, looking around. “I don’t see anyone here. I guess the little mage isn’t the only one who believes in ghosts,” she chuckles. 

“You think I saw a ghost? Like in the spooky stories?” He’d told Lysithea a bunch of those, and for a while, she’d believed the library was haunted. 

She shrugs, hopping back up onto her feet, offering him a hand up. He takes it, and she pulls him to his feet. “A ghost can be a lot of things. A memory, a daydream, a secret. Grief, anger, guilt. But most times, ghosts are just what we want to see. Most times, a ghost is a wish.” She juts her chin towards the estate, where the warm candlelight still luminates from its windows. “You coming back?”

He waves her forward, shaking his head. “I’ll join you in a minute.” Judith nods, turning on her heel and heading back. Claude gives her a few seconds before turning his eyes back to the full moon, its soft glow spilling over him. 

She’d seemed so real. Claude had touched her, felt her. He’d even had a conversation with her, saying all the things he should have said a long time ago. 

_Maybe Sothis took pity on you tonight._

Sothis. The name of Fodlan’s divine goddess. The very goddess that had lived in her head, and had gifted Byleth her divine power. For that reason, Claude knows this must have been a sign. A sign that she would return, and he’d only be alone for a little while longer.

So he clasps his hands together, squeezing his eyes shut as he turns towards the heavens. “Sothis. Sothis, I know I’m not religious and I’ve never prayed before, but please. Please bring her back to me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Judith writes to Tiana and tells her to come get her son because he's starting to have dreams about girls and she did _not _sign up for this.__
> 
> (btw, judith’s quote about ghosts is from the haunting of hill house)


	17. a new dawn

At the behest of the highly irritated goddess, Byleth forces her eyes open, blinking into the murky darkness. Her body feels weighed down, her movements heavy. Her eyes sting, and when she opens her mouth to draw in a breath of air, she inhales a cold mouthful of water instead. 

She jerks up immediately, her body acting on its own accord as her head breaks the surface of the water. Byleth coughs and sputters to hack up any remains of liquid in her lungs, her breaths coming out in strangled gasps. Her stiff fingers push matted hair out of her face, clearing up her line of vision and taking a look around.

She’s sitting up to her abdomen in water, algae and other slimy things stuck to her clothes. Her entire body is trembling, a cold rush of wind cutting through her like glass. As she lifts herself out of the water her muscles scream, and her joints ache with every unsteady step she takes to the river’s edge. Something bumps against her hip, and she looks down to see the Sword of the Creator still strapped to her side, glowing in greeting as her hand touches the hilt. 

It’s nighttime, and all Byleth can think of is how cold she is. She’s soaked to the bone, her teeth chattering as she steps out of the water, boots squelching in the mud. She wraps her arms around herself, rubbing her arms as best she can to regain sensation when a figure approaches her. Cursing, Byleth fumbles with the dagger on her belt. She’s vulnerable right now, an easy target for passing thieves. 

A man steps into view, holding a torch in one hand and holding his free hand up to show he’s unarmed.. “Who are you?” She rasps, but her voice is so strained that she’s unsure if he even understood it. “Where am I?” 

_What happened?_

**__________**

On the 31st day of the Lone Moon in Imperial Year 1180, the Empire had attacked the monastery, and Byleth’s class had fought on the front lines. According to the man in the village, that was five years ago, and today was the long awaited Millenium Festival. 

As Byleth stumbles up the rubbled path to Garreg Mach, all she can think about is that this had to be some kind of mistake. There’s no way five years had passed her by. She remembered falling like it was yesterday. 

Byleth’s breath catches, and not just because she’s physically exhausted. If it’d been five years, what had happened to her class? Had they all survived the attack? Where had they all ended up? Was Lysithea getting enough sleep? Was Hilda still doing enough training? Dear goddess, what about Claude? She should have asked the man about the Alliance. Claude must have been made Duke by now, and a man of his position would surely have a large target on his back. So even if he’d survived the attack on the monastery, was he okay now? 

Five years...a lot could happen in five years. A lot could happen in just forty-five minutes. A person could get blasted off a cliff and shatter what had felt like every bone in their body. 

Byleth reaches deep within herself to find a leftover reserve of energy, forcing her body forward as she’s filled with a new drive, and she shakes the negative thoughts from her head. They had to be okay. Her students were strong because she’d made them so. With Claude to watch over them, she knew they had to be okay. 

She’d always known Claude was a natural born leader, and he would never let his guard down, not now. If she closes her eyes, she can picture him at his desk, rejecting sleep in order to fully wrap his hand around a concept. The fool could think himself in circles, prying into the darkest corners of his mind to pull out a win. 

Clambering up the final stretch of dirt, Byleth is once again on monastery soil. Would her Deer be here today? On the day they’d promised to see each other again? Festivity was out of the question, but with Fodlan at war, had the terms changed? What if they returned, and were upset with her for being so gone so long? What was she supposed to say? That she was _asleep?_

Byleth’s feet carry her through the abandoned monastery grounds and through to the courtyard, past the tattered remains of the Black Eagle and Blue Lion banners, the once vibrant banners fluttering in the crisp winter breeze. She comes to a stop in front of the Golden Deer classroom, it’s bright yellow banner just as washed out and neglected as the others. The doors were still wide open, inviting her to witness the bittersweet memories of a once lively place. 

She saw flashes of it as she peeked inside, each memory shrouded in a warm glow of light. Lysithea and Constance fighting for the front seat during magic seminars, Hilda filing her nails in the back, Ingrid smacking Sylvain with a rolled up bunch of paper when he made an inappropriate comment. She saw her father hugging her, telling her she would be alright. She sees herself and Claude standing at her desk, him shooting question after question at her like arrows. Her laughing when he made a joke, or said something funny to Lorenz. This was a place of laughter and learning and fun. It was where she’d made her first friend, and where he’d made her smile for the first time.

What she wouldn’t give to have it all back.

Her Golden Deer were a scrappy bunch, diamonds in the rough that Byleth had buffed and shined to near perfection. They were scrappy and a little reckless, but above all they were steadfast and loyal to one another. They would be back, and hopefully they’d be happy she was too.

Byleth steps away from the classroom, leaving the memories be. The sun is starting to come up, and without the cover of night, she was a sitting duck basically begging someone to rob her. She needs to find a good spot to wait, where she can see who comes in and out of the place. Somewhere high up. 

The screech of a wyvern draws her gaze upwards, and Byleth’s eyes catch the stone of the Goddess Tower, feeling a light tug pulling her in its direction.

**__________**

  
  


Byleth’s soft footfalls echo around her, bouncing off the stone walls of the tower. She feels a sense of familiarity as she climbs the steps, her knees aching with each one. The last time she’d been here, it was her feet that had been sore from dancing. She’d been easily overwhelmed by the attention she’d received from the students, and had needed a quiet moment alone. 

The last time she’d been here, she hadn’t been alone. 

Sothis had laughed at her that night, claiming that fate had led her and Claude here. He’d shared his dreams with her here, talked about their ambitions. Claude had even led them in a...less traditional prayer to make their hopes come true. Byleth had tried to keep a straight face as Sothis scoffed and rolled her eyes at him. 

The last time Byleth had been here, she had been happy. So blissfully unaware of the sorrows that the next few months would bring. It had been the night before her world had turned upside down.

Byleth pauses at the top of the stairs, her hand immediately reaching for her sword when she sees that someone’s already beat her here. Her numb fingers barely grasp the hilt of her dagger when the figure clad in gold and black silks turns back and spots her. 

Byleth gives him a quick once over, searching his hands for a weapon. Once she decides he’s clear, she switches her gaze to his face, searching for signs of aggression. He doesn’t at all look interested in attacking her. Instead, he looks pleasantly surprised.

Viridian meets emerald, and if Byleth had a heartbeat, she’s sure it would have stopped. 

_Five years_. 

The words echo through her mind, their meaning finally sinking in. It can't be...

“You overslept, Teach! Pretty rude of you to keep a fella waiting like that, wouldn’t you say?”

The dagger slips through her fingers, clattering to the floor. Only one person called her that. 

“Claude?” 

**__________**

Her voice is tentative and hoarse, but to Claude it’s like a siren’s call, drawing him closer. She looks at him with such concern, the look shrouding over her face as her eyes glisten with unshed tears. As he approaches, Byleth takes a precautionary step back, a slight furrow between her brows as she regarded him quietly. 

“What’s with the surprised look, my friend? You didn’t really think I’d given up on you coming back, did you?” She only blinks at him, looking a bit awestruck before her face melts into the slightest of smiles as she hesitantly closes the distance between them, stepping into a soft stream of sunlight. 

Her damp clothes are covered in algae and she smells like the bottom of a pond, but Claude can’t find it in him to care. He’d never seen someone so radiant.

He looks over his shoulder, towards the sunrise outside, breaking through the wispy, wintry sky and warming the tower. “Can you feel it,” he murmurs softly. “A new dawn is finally here. Not just for us though...no, for all of Fódlan.”

When he turns back to her, she’s looking up at him through her lashes, and he feels his chest tighten as her cool hands cup the sides of his face. She studies him closely and in awe, her fingers idly tracing the line of his beard.

“It really has been five years, hasn’t it?” She breathes, and Claude places his hand over hers, leaning into her touch. _This is real,_ his brain tells him. _She’s real._

His eyes stung as tears threatened to spill over. “Welcome back, Byleth,” he says softly, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. She chokes out a quiet sob, dropping her hands and wrapping her arms around his torso. She buries her head into his chest, tucking her head underneath his chin. Claude secures his arms around her, shifting his head to set his cheek atop her head. “I knew you would come back to me.”

Five years. He’d waited five years for this moment, and this right here was all worth the heartache.

Claude is reluctant to let go, as if she’ll disappear the moment she leaves his arms. For the first time in five years, he feels his mind and body relax. He can’t remember the last time he’d felt so content. So he lets her dictate how long she’ll allow him to hold her. 

He feels her shiver against him, and feels stupid for not realizing it sooner. She’d showed up soaked! Claude reluctantly lets go, hearing her soft noise of protest as he pulls away. “You must be cold,” he says, unwrapping the sash around his waist and unclasping his cape. He shrugs his coat off, draping it over her shoulders. His coat swallows her whole, the hem falling to her knees. Claude swallows thickly, watching her wrap herself in his clothing. He clears his throat, averting his gaze to the ceiling. He offers her his arm, noticing the way her cheeks glow as she takes it. “Let’s find you some dry clothes, then we can talk.”

**__________**

Luckily most of her clothes are still wearable after a good shake to rid them of some dust. Claude had waited outside as she pulled on the Academy’s evening wear. With its long sleeves and wool tights, it was a good option for her, but not so much for Claude’s heart. 

He tries his best to keep his face neutral as they traverse the monastery grounds. He was deliriously happy, giddy even. There were so many things he wanted to share with her. Five years worth of information to catch her up on, but first and foremost, he needed to clear the air.

“So what have been up to these past five years? Where have you been?” He knows it sounds accusatory, but he needs to know. 

“I was sleeping. I woke at the bottom of a river.” she murmurs, frowning in response.

He can’t suppress a chuckle at that. It would certainly explain her sodden state when she’d arrived. No one in their right mind would go swimming in winter. “That’s a good one! Except...that’s not your lying face.” He shoots her a quick wink as she blinks at him. Byleth is a lot of things, but he’s never known her to be a liar. “I guess I’ve got no choice but to believe you. You’re not exactly normal to begin with, so it’s not a huge stretch to imagine you sleeping for that long.”

There’s also the fact that she doesn’t look like she’s changed at all since last he’s seen her. No new scars to indicate that she’d been fighting. She looks exactly the same as she did the night before his world went to shit.

They pause by the fishing pond, taking a seat at the edge of the pier. “Aaaaand this is where you say ‘just kidding!’ Right? If this is a rib, now’s the time to fess up.”

“I don’t understand it myself,” she tells him. “But it’s the truth.”

Claude, as always, is inclined to believe her. Weirder things have happened, and it explained why she wouldn’t have come back to him right away. “I believe you, okay? But that means you really don’t know anything about what happened after your last battle, right? I guess that’s on me to catch you up.”

He’s about to launch into a detailed account of the last few years when he notices her rub her stomach, a grimace appearing on her face. Claude reaches for the small sack he’d had slung over his shoulder. Like most things in life, he’d been prepared. “Before we get into it, are you hungry? You must be.” 

**__________**

“Let me make sure I have this right,” Byleth says, swallowing another bite of the apple Claude had given her. It’s the third apple she’s eaten in the past ten minutes. “The Empire is currently united under...Emperor Edelgard. She crushed Garreg Mach five years ago and Rhea went missing.”

He nods, running a hand through his hair. “Apparently the Knights of Seiros have been running around Fodlan looking for her. But the fact that this place is in ruins tells me they still haven’t found her.” 

She stares intently at the pond, watching as it ripples from the toe of his boot. “We have to find her.” 

“True,” he agrees. “I’ve got a mountain of questions I’d like to ask her. I’m sure you do too.” It’d been the reason she’d rushed out onto the battlefield that day. He’d never forget it. “But...I’m not so sure about whether it would be good for her to return as Archbishop...Rather, with her gone-” He stops himself when he feels her eye on him, her original look of concentration turning into one of morbid curiosity. He’ll bite his tongue for now. “Eh, nevermind. This could be a dangerous conversation. Anyways, go on. What did I tell you about Faerghus?”

She fixes him with a steady look, telling him that this conversation is far from over. “Faerghus’ regent was murdered late in 1181 and sometime later Dimitri was...executed for it,” she frowns, staring down at her hands. “A woman named Cornelia took the throne and allied with the Empire to subjugate western Faerghus. They’re now called the Faerghus Dukedom. How are our Blue Lion students? Are they doing alright?” 

“Houses Fraldarius, Gautier, Charon, and Galatea continue to resist,” Claude explains. “I meet with Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid at least once every two months to give them supplies. I’ve been keeping in touch as best I can, but it’s hard to get letters across the border nowadays.”

“That’s good of you to do,” she nods fiercely. “I hope they come today, even just to visit. I’d like to see them.” 

Claude looks up to see the sun starting to set, but no one’s showed up yet. He supposes he can’t fault them. When they’d made that promise, none of them could have imagined the positions they’d be in now. “I hope they come too.” 

She places her hand on his knee. “They’ll be here. They promised. The Golden Deer take promises very seriously.”

Claude takes a deep breath. If she can keep her promise, then the rest of their class can too. “You’re right, Teach. We do.” 

She smiles at him, and Claude swears he feels his heart flutter in his chest. “Right. Anyways, the Alliance. It’s uh, split in two. The Imperial and anti-Imperial factions led by you and House Gloucester. The Bridge is being occupied by the Empire?” 

“That’s right.” Claude sweeps some cracker crumbs off his pants. “That about covers it all. Do you have any questions about anything else?”

That familiar little furrow between her brow reappears. “How have _you_ been? You’ve been leading the Alliance. Five years is a long time, Claude.” 

He can’t help but chuckle at her. He didn’t have the words to describe the messy spiral that had been his life these last few years. “You have no idea, my friend. In the meantime, how about a little bit of exercise?”

**__________**

Even in the midst of battle, Hilda had complained, Lorenz had scolded, and Lysithea had bossed them all around. It was just like old times. 

Claude didn’t realize how much he’d missed his classmates. Sure, he saw them a few times a month for Roundtable meetings or supply pickups, but there was something so cathartic about fighting alongside them again. 

Their class reunion was filled with tears, laughter, and a little bit of blood. His classmates were overjoyed to see their professor alive again. When the fighting was done, everyone had piled in for a group hug, with Byleth squished in the middle, her eyes shining as she cried happy tears. 

“It’s good to see you all in the same place again,” Claude grins when the commotion dies down. “Although...has anyone heard from Ashe?” He asks hopefully, eyeing Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix. 

Ingrid sighs, shaking her head. “We tried but...with the Empire occupying Castle Gaspard and Edelgard’s manifesto about the church he was a little conflicted.” 

Everyone murmurs at that, and Claude can’t help but miss his archery pal. “Well, in any case, I’m grateful to you all for risking the trip here. All of you. It means a lot to me.” 

“Then the least you could have done was prepare some tea,” Hilda groans dramatically, wiping the blood from her axe. “I thought I was going to catch up on some gossip, not fight scary bandits.” 

“Blame Claude,” Byleth says, jabbing her thumb towards him accusingly as everyone laughs. 

“They were thieves!” He exclaims, as even Byleth joins in on the playful teasing. “We couldn’t just let them get away!” 

“Whatever, Leader Man,” Hilda sighs, looping her arm around his waist. “Let’s just get back back to the monastery, it’s freezing out here.”

**__________**

  
  


“I was thinking…” Claude starts once they’ve gathered in the cathedral. “Now that we’ve taken care of the monastery’s bandit problem, we should use this place as our base of operations again.” 

Everyone either shoots him confused looks or stares down at their feet until Hilda speaks up. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

Claude gestures around him. “This is a highly strategic location. It’s in the middle of Fodlan. It’s the perfect place for the Leicester Alliance to launch it’s offensive against the Empire.” 

Mouths hang open, feet shuffle uncomfortably. Byleth nods absently beside him. “Are you actually suggesting that we...fight back?” Lysithea asks, her eyes wide.

“The Alliance is in no shape to take on the Empire. They have the strength of their entire nation, meanwhile our forces are divided,” Lorenz points out. 

Claude had expected this resistance. If anyone was going to challenge him, it’d be Lorenz. “The Empire is the cause of our infighting. If we rid ourselves of their presence at the Bridge, then this situation should dissolve itself. That’s why I’m thinking we should make this place our base, raise up an army, and stir up some trouble for the Empire.” 

“Now you’re talking! Sounds like fun.” Raphael agrees immediately.

Hilda, ever opposed to all work, sighs. “Does this mean you expect us all to fight on the front lines? What schemes do you have up your sleeve?”

Claude’s grin widens. Of course he had a scheme. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. As the Leader of the Alliance, I am officially inviting you to join my army and help carry out my wildest schemes,” he winks before addressing the rest of the group. “I need to know if you’re all in or out.”

“I’m happy to lend a hand. Let’s kick those Imperial dogs out of our territory,” Leonie agrees right away. “I’d hate for my village to get caught in the fighting.”

“I’ll fight too!” Raphael adds. “I’ve gotta protect my little sis.” 

“I’ll join as well. House Ordelia’s been dragged into the Empire’s messes one too many times,” Lysithea nods with a ferocity entirely new to her character.

“I’ll fight too,” Ignatz announces proudly. “It’s time to take responsibility for my own future!” 

“I...I don’t want to run anymore. I hope I’ll be of use to everyone,” Marianne speaks up.

“We’ll fight too,” Ingrid says firmly, grabbing Sylvain and Felix’s arms. “The Empire is our common enemy. If we help you destroy the Empire, then the fighting back home can stop.” 

“Us too,” Dorothea adds, grasping Petra and Caspar’s shoulders. “We don’t have much, but we want our homes back.” 

“Thank you,” Claude smiles, dipping his head in thanks. “I know this couldn’t have been an easy decision for you all to make, but if we don’t act, the Empire will eventually crush us all. It’s time we came together to stop them.”

Everyone turns expectantly to their professor. Claude turns to face her, a fiery passion he’d never seen before burning behind her eyes. “With you on our side, the Church will undoubtedly join us as well. That makes fighting the Empire a moral cause, which means it will be easier to rally moral support. Above all, your knowledge and strength are indispensable if we hope to stand a chance against the Empire. Without you...my schemes are nothing but empty words.” Claude notices Hilda press her lips together to hold back what he knows is a snicker. “So Teach...Do we have you too? ”

She reaches for his hand, grasping it tightly. The sword on her hip blazed with holy fury. “You always have me.” 

**__________**

Sometime later, Seteth and Flayn make their reappearance, flanked by Catherine, Shamir, and the remainder of the Knights. Upon learning that Byleth was with them, they joined Alliance forces immediately. Claude watches as Flayn throws her arms around Byleth, head bobbing excitedly. Seteth speaks to her in a hushed voice, probably updating her on the Church’s situation. Hilda joins in the conversation, asking her to help coordinate the monastery cleanup, and the monastery slowly comes back to life. 

As always, it starts with her. 

The next few days are a whirlwind of activity as efforts to restore the monastery commence. Byleth seems to be everywhere at once. Helping out in the kitchen, clearing rubble, fixing up the stables. There was never any shortage of her willingness to help. 

As always, she still made time for him. 

They spent afternoons together in Jeralt’s old office, going over troop movements and battalion assignments. She pushed him to train with her and Felix each day to keep his skills sharp. They ate dinner together, him filling her in on the last five years. Everything in his life was falling back into place. He couldn’t help but think of the things they could achieve with her back by his side. Things were looking up again, all going according to plan. 

_No distractions,_ his brain reminded his heart. He still had things to achieve after they ended this war, after all. 

But if Claude’s breath caught in his throat each time they made eye contact over the table, or his cheeks bloomed crimson when she brushed against him in the slightest, who would notice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hilda, dry heaving in the corner as this real life romance novel starts to heat up: ME


	18. about last night

Byleth steps out of her room, quietly shutting the door behind her. Despite it being what she assumes is near midnight, she rubs the sleep from her eyes, doing her best to banish the bout of drowsiness clouding her mind. Tucking her journal under her arm and slipping her writing supplies into her pocket, Byleth flips the collar of her shirt up and ventures out into the cool quiet of the monastery. Maybe some fresh air would help clear her head.

The last four weeks had been extremely busy. As Claude’s second and the leader of the Church, she was overseeing training and restoration efforts as they readied to retaliate against the Empire. They were fighting under a banner with her Crest after all. During the day, she was spread thin around the monastery, helping out where she could. The list of things to do seemed never ending, but with Claude tackling it with her, things seemed to run smoothly enough.

Night time was when she preferred to go about her personal business. At this time, everyone is worn from the day's preparations, and has turned in for the night. No one is around to waylay or push back her plans. Her first stop is always the same; a part of her old nighttime routine that she couldn’t bear to part with. In the ominous graveyard, Byleth stands perfectly still at the grave of her father to say goodnight. Leonie had mentioned him today while they were training, saying he’d be proud of her coming back to lead them once more. 

Her chest twists as her fingers trace the engraving of his name, the stone oddly unweathered by time. Technically speaking, it’d been five years since he’d died. At first, she’d been shocked when Leonie had brought him up, as she’d been so clearly affected by his death. But then she realized that Leonie had those five whole years to accept it and move one. For Byleth, it’d only been a little over three months. The hole in her heart still hadn’t closed. It was like something was missing, and her life was incomplete without it.

“Would you really be proud of me?” She murmurs to the gravestone, even though she knows she won’t get an answer. It was just hard to tell these days. Thinking about it, she was quite literally inserting herself into the middle of a war. It wasn’t that she wasn’t honoured to have Claude and Seteth trust her with the affairs of the Alliance and the Church. It was just...a lot. She’d quite literally just woken up, but all these major decisions were being thrust into her hands. It’s times like these where she wonders how different things might have been if he were still with her.

Byleth pulls a few weeds before leaving, placing a kiss to her fingertips and touching the smooth stone in farewell. She’d be back tomorrow night. There were five years of visits to make up for. 

While Byleth mentally checks out for the night, her feet seem to know where to take her next, and she’s ascending the stairs to Rhea’s quarters. Access to Rhea’s private Star Terrace was the plus side of her disappearance. As the interim leader of the Church, Seteth had given her the key, and Byleth had her every night up there alone with her thoughts. The amount of times he’d found her asleep outside was embarrassing. 

As she pushes the door open, Byleth discovers that she isn’t the only one out there tonight. Claude is there, lying prone on the ground with his hands behind his head as he stares up at the sky. How he got up here Byleth has no idea, but if the beating wings of a nearby wyvern are any indicator, then she may have a clue. 

“Oh, hey there,” Claude greets absently when he notices her. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“Just needed to clear my head,” she shrugs. He makes an assenting noise, which was a less prying response than usual. Without another word she laid beside him, hugging her journal to her chest as she stares up at the night sky, trying to decipher what exactly he seemed so focused on. Her gaze drifts to where the empty space where Blue Sea Star normally resides, thinking of Sothis. If the goddess always watches from above, then why does the star she resides on disappear for half the year? 

“That’s a pretty big sigh, Teach. You’re interrupting my brooding,” Claude observes beside her. His gaze flicks over her, resting on her journal. “What do you have there?” 

She pats the cover. “Ah, it’s just my journal. I usually come up here to write.”

“Write? Teach, are you secretly a romantic poet like your father?”

“Nothing like that,” she laughs, holding it out to him. She was nowhere near as eloquent with her words. “I just like to keep track of things. You can take a look.” When Claude takes the journal, a glyph ignites on her fingers, providing him with ample light as he opens the journal to its bookmarked page, eyes scanning its contents. 

_Claude - no longer wears a braid. He cut it off in 1181 after becoming Duke._

_Marianne - is doing much better. Is now a skilled orator and certified physician._

_Ignatz - is now openly expressing his career path as an artist._

_Dorothea - no longer part of the Mittelfrank Opera after helping disperse the company in 1181._

_Felix - now enthusiastically trains in reason magic, due to new relationship with his father._

_Ingrid - through fighting for Faerghus, now fully recognizes her dream of becoming a knight._

_Constance - has developed several successful magic related projects._

_Leonie - travelled with and is part of dad’s mercenary company._

Claude shuts her journal, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t even know some of this stuff,” he murmurs, handing it back to her. “You’re sharper than people give you credit for, you know? Ever since the Academy, people have felt like they could tell you anything. Me included.”

She shrugs. “It’s always been easier for me to listen rather than talk.” People just seemed comfortable around her, and she wasn’t about to discourage them.

“Still,” Claude hums, contemplating it. “I didn’t even know most of the stuff you have written in there. Makes me seem like a bad friend.” 

“You were busy keeping the Alliance afloat,” she shrugs, setting the journal between them. “I’m just trying to fill in the gaps. Five years doesn’t seem like a lot until you realize how much everyone has grown without you. Each of you has led such a different life than we’d discussed. Time may have stopped for me, but for the rest of you…” She trails off, looking up at the sky. The pattern of stars seemed so fixed, yet she knew it was ever changing. “You all moved forward without me.”

It was a difficult pill to swallow, and a large adjustment. Most of her students were technically older than her now, with newly developed personalities and thoughts. New skills and preferences. She felt like she was starting all over again.

“I couldn’t,” Claude replies softly. “No matter how hard I tried. I was just...going through the motions, waiting for you.”

Guilt ate at her, with regret hitting her like a sledgehammer. She should never have run into battle that day. “Waiting and brooding you mean? What troubles you on this eve, Duke Riegan?”

“Nothing, O’ Enlightened One,” he retorts playfully, likely sensing the uncomfortable turn they’d taken. “My brain’s just...busy. Thoughts keep moving around and around in there while my eyes are wide open. At times like these, I just gaze up at the stars to clear my head. I’ve been that way since I was a kid.” Byleth smiles at the thought of little Claude stargazing, emerald eyes wide as he took in the expanse of midnight blue velvet, speckled with small pockets of light. 

She’d stargazed frequently as a child, and knew the calming effect of a beautiful, cloudless night like this. The beauty of nature’s most wonderful phenomenon stole away even the most gnawing thoughts, and the worries of the day were easily lost to the heavens above.

The crescent moon smiled down at them, bathing them in a soft glow that seemed almost ethereal up here. “Looking up at the big, starry sky makes my dreams feel small...which makes it feel like I can actually make them come true. I didn’t believe in gods when I was a kid. Maybe that’s because the night sky took their place for me.” 

“Well, people did turn to the sky for guidance once,” she says, recalling the stories her father had told her of constellations. “They didn’t look up to pray, asking the Goddess to show them the right path. All they needed was a set of stars and the brain to use them.” Polaris, Sirius, those were just two of the navigational stars utilised in the primeval tales of old. “My father said that unlike the goddess, stars always give you an answer.”

“Careful Teach, what would Rhea say if she heard that?” Claude chides, but she can hear the smile in his voice. 

Byleth snorts. “Lucky for me, she isn’t around much these days.” Claude laughs appreciatively, followed by an even bigger sigh than her own had presumably been.

“Say…” he starts, crossing his leg over his knee. “If you’re up for it, will you talk with me a while?” 

“Of course,” she nods. 

“Back home, the people of Fodlan are looked down on as cowards. Technically, that cowardice runs in my veins. On my mother’s side anyway. That’s why the people who were around me when I was young thought of me as an outsider. But I don’t believe the people of Fodlan are cowards. That kind of thinking is based on ignorance.”

Byleth turns her head to study his face. He looked solemn, and there was a sadness in his eyes as he spoke, his voice sounding oddly vulnerable. It was unlike him to sound so...defenseless.

“The person who I know best is my mother. She fell in love with a man from the wrong side of the border and had the guts to leave home to pursue that love. I always threw that in the faces of anyone who tried to make a fool of me. My mother is proof the people of Fódlan aren’t all cowards.” He pauses. “You’re a pretty great example too.” 

“Just saying that doesn’t achieve anything, though,” he sighs. “I need to destroy the prejudices that have taken root in Almyra. That’s why I came here, to see Fódlan with my own eyes. I thought I might find a new perspective that could help me change things?” 

“And what did you find?” She asks, though she has a feeling she knows the answer as his expression hardens.

He let out a dry, irritated scoff. “That the people here view anyone who’s an outsider as a beast of sorts. I was shocked. Even though our cultures and beliefs are completely different, our two lands have that much in common. That’s when I realized the only way to change things is bring the whole world together and start anew. That’s the dream I’ve been working towards since I first entered the Academy five years ago. To unify the Alliance, and then all of Fódlan, and to bring a new set of values to this new land of mine. After that, I’d expand that vision to the rest of the world. Break down the walls and let a new perspective come rushing in! Start all over!” 

Byleth considers his words, proceeding with her response very carefully. “If I ask you a question, will you answer it honestly?”

Claude pushes himself up onto his elbows, watching her with those ever assessing eyes. “That depends. If I answer honestly will you judge me?” 

“No,” she assures him, “because I think we have the same answer.”

“Then ask away.”

Byleth sits up. “Before we insert ourselves into this war, I want to know where you stand, because your dream...It isn’t all that different from Edelgard’s entire manifesto.” She points out. “The agnostic Adrestian Empire challenging the set of values embedded into our lives by the Church. She wants to wipe out their influence, bring about a clean slate to unify all of Fodlan, and that’s not far from your own dream.” 

His eyes narrow in the slightest, as if he’s trying to figure out if this conversation is a trap of some sort. “That’s not a question, that’s a statement.” 

“Do you think Edelgard is right?” She asks, staring back at him.

“Yes and no,” he frowns after a beat of hesitation. “But...mostly not no. In a way I think she has the right ideas, but starting a war is never the solution. There’s been so much bloodshed over the last five years, and she hasn’t even set her sights on claiming the Alliance yet. Her methods just aren’t something I can get behind. Once we enter the fray…” he exhales, shaking his head. “I’ve managed to keep us out of the crossfire for now, but it was only a matter of time before she invaded.” 

Byleth absently picks at some moss in the cracks of the cobblestone. “It was kind of her only option, though. You remember everything we went through in the Academy. The secrets, the hiding, the white lies,” she reminds him, thinking of their first run-in with Miklan, and the secret society of Abyss and her mother hiding there. “She’s right to want them to answer for their mistakes and mishandling of the truth. Rhea was always quick to punish those who defy the teachings of Seiros. She swept insubordination under the rug before the incidents could cause doubt. So for Edelgard to make a move so grand and controversial, she probably felt it was her only choice.” 

“You may be right,” Claude considers carefully. “But wiping out the Church was never the right conclusion for her to draw, though,” he adds after a few moments of heavy silence. “You can’t just take away something that people believe so devoutly in. It’s a support system to people like Marianne. That’s where we’re different,” he explains. “You can’t lead through fear. It’s about acceptance and compromise. You can’t build a better future by destroying the present. It’s something that’s built. Brick by brick, stone by stone. Sure, I want things to change too, but I’d never destroy or antagonize something that means so many things to so many people.” 

Claude turns his gaze “That’s what you were talking about before,” Byleth realizes slowly.

_But rather with her gone...Eh, nevermind._

“You want to change it all from the inside out. Lead the church under a different mission statement, where they do more good than bad.” She pauses, looking around. “So...do you hope that Rhea is dead then? Or at least...stays gone?” To speak of it on her terrace sounds like blasphemy.

Claude exhales a puff of air. “That’s a dangerous question, Teach. All I know for sure is that I have a lot of questions to ask her. About your true origins, and the real history behind the Crest Stones and Heroes’ Relics, and legends of Seiros and Nemesis. We need the answers directly from her, so in that sense, I hope she’s alive.”

“And in the other sense?”

“It’d be interesting to see a world without Rhea. The Seiros faith that Rhea preaches is what upholds the Crest and nobility systems. I’ve noticed it since the Academy, the fact that her advocated doctrine was so absolute. It’s a system of division, and people have no choice but to accept it. Those who don’t are then outcast from society.” His voice is clipped, a shade angry. Byleth can tell he’d been thinking about this for a while. 

“But if you remove the Archbishop from the situation, then there’s room for free thought. If things go how I picture them, then leadership of the Church falls to you, and I know you’ll have the power to change the shape of the Seiros faith.”

“We haven’t even set foot in Empire territory, yet you’re already thinking of the future,” she chuckles. She honestly can’t picture herself leading the Church of Seiros. She knew next to nothing about the religion. Seteth, or even Flayn would be a better choice.

She watches as he tilts his head back, eyes shining under the starlight. “It starts with Fódlan but...eventually I want to bust open Fódlan’s Throat. That massive fortress...I like to think of it as a lid on a bottle. The people of Fódlan only know a small part of the world. The prejudices both here and in Almyra are born because they don’t know what lies beyond their borders. Ignorance breeds discrimination. Whether you’re looking inside the bottle or outside of it...If you really look, all you find are people who can get along, if only they open their hearts and minds to try. That’s why I want to bust open that lid, which keeps us locked inside or out.”

“Or destroy the bottle completely,” Byleth suggests.

Claude shoots her that mysterious half smile, winking at her as he pushes off his elbows into a sitting position. “Like I said, you’re sharper than people give you credit for.” Then on a more serious note he adds, “Do you think it’s all a crazy pipe dream? Or a brilliant ambition?” 

“Can you rise to the challenge of that brilliant ambition?” She questions, leaning closer to him. “If we win this war, can you set out to do that? Reform the entire Church and country? It’s a lot of work, Claude.”

“Not too long ago I thought it was too much. Then I realized that it was too much for me to do _alone._ ” He reaches for her hand, grasping her right hand in his. “I needed help, and now I have the perfect partner,” he grins. “Lately I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.” She can feel the warmth of his touch seeping through his gloves blooming across the skin of her hand. For him to be so open and vulnerable about his dreams with her...he really, truly trusted her. It’s a nice feeling.

“You and me, Byleth,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “We can go anywhere, do anything. I hope you’ll always walk in step with me. At least until the day comes when we can look out at the peaceful world we’ve built. Together.” 

So that was the dream he’d spoken of so cryptically that night in the Goddess Tower. The noble dream they’d discussed in the library. The dream he wanted to share with her. “Together...I like the sound of that.” 

Byleth’s body starts tingling with anticipation, and she works to swallow the lump in her throat as her gaze drifts to his lips. She slowly reaches out with her free hand, using her finger to trace them with a feather light touch. He doesn’t flinch or back away, remaining perfectly still as her thumb traces the edge of his bottom lip. Lifting her gaze back up, she’s met with questioning eyes, pleading, begging to know what she was doing, and most importantly, what she was planning to do. She honestly couldn’t answer him, because she truly didn’t know. She couldn’t form an answer with her lips because she was so focused on his. The lip she’s tracing pouts slightly, and she has the urge to bite it, kiss it, anything. Would kissing him taste like Almyran pine needle tea and warm spices? Would it further ignite the spark in her soul?

Their faces are inches away now. They were all alone out here with only the stars as witnesses. What was stopping her from finding out?

A curt cough is what. “Professor, Claude, what are you doing out so late?” 

They jump apart as if Seteth’s voice had been the Spear of Assal being driven between them, scrambling apart and to their feet. Embarrassment burns red hot in Byleth’s temples, and she notices that even Claude’s breathing is heavier than usual. Seteth stands in the doorway, giving them both a pointed look. “Well?”

Byleth opens her mouth, still unable to form words, or apparently a single coherent thought. 

“We were t-talking,” Claude says, his entire face red. Byleth raises a brow never heard him look or sound so flustered before. 

Seteth rubs his forehead tiredly, sighing. “I know you are both young adults, but I do suggest you head to bed. It is important to stay well rested in times of war. You never know when battle will come.” 

Always one for a quick recovery, Claude’s face breaks out into an easy smile. “Right as ever, Seteth. Teach and I will head to bed. Not together of course. I mean— we’ll leave together but we won’t _leave_ _together._ We’ll leave at the same time but I’ll walk her to her own room, and I won’t go inside. I’ll go straight to my own room. Alone. I’ll be alone, and she’ll be alone.” He looks between her and Seteth, and though his face remains plastered with his smile, she recognizes the alarm in his eyes. “Uh...goodnight,” he says curtly, patting her on the shoulder and giving Seteth an awkward hug before all but rushing off the terrace.

Seteth just looks confused, and Byleth winces as she picks up her forgotten journal. So much for a quick recovery.

**__________**

“It was the single most embarrassing moment of my life, and I ran out in the middle of my Sovereign Oath,” Claude laughs maniacally, pacing back and forth in front of a half asleep Hilda “I even hugged Seteth before I left,” he adds, realizing how insane the whole thing sounds. _“Seteth.”_

Slouching on her bed in a rarely disheveled look, Hilda yawns, scratching her head. Instead of going straight to his room, he’d detoured and ended up banging on her door until she’d answered. “Am I dreaming? This seems like the kind of thing that happens in a dream.”

“No! If anything this is my nightmare.”

She flops back into bed. “Can’t this wait until morning?” she groans, shoving her head under her pillow. 

“It can’t,” Claude insists, snatching the pillow off her head and smacking her with it. “I need your advice.” 

Hilda less than enthusiastically drags hauls herself up into a sitting position. “You must be really desperate if you came to me for advice.”

When it came to matters of the heart, he’d rather go to her than Sylvain.

Her bleary eyes blink at him. “So let me get this straight, cause I’m pretty sure I was still half asleep when you explained the situation,” she sighs, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders. “You shared a moment under the stars, she almost kissed you but you freaked and left her there when Seteth interrupted you? Why wouldn’t you just...I don’t know, kiss her?” 

“I don’t know,” he stresses, running a hand through his hair for what must be the seventh time since he’d been here. “Whenever I’m with her I get this feeling. I start to sweat everywhere and my heart just starts racing. What the heck is up with that?” He asks, choosing to ignore Hilda’s amused stare. “It’s like she’s poisoning me or something.” 

“Oh Claude, babe,” Hilda sighs deeply. “You’re in love.” 

**__________**

With the battle done and the troops sweeping for stragglers, Byleth’s battle fueled adrenaline had faded enough for her to feel the extent of her wounds. Stalking over to a nearby medical tent, she grabs a few supplies and waves off healers, telling them to save their magic for the wounded soldiers screaming within their tents. 

Dropping herself onto a nearby slab of stone, Byleth pulls off her cloak and tears the rip in her sleeve open, inspecting the deep cut on her upper arm. Though Claude’s shout had kept her head on her shoulders, Randolph’s upswing had still caught her off guard, and twisting out of the way had earned her a nasty cut. Luckily it hadn’t been her sword arm. 

She holds the bottle of water she’d picked up between her thighs, using her good arm to unscrew the cap. Byleth carefully rinses out the gaping cut, hissing sharply through her gritted teeth. Casting a weak restore spell to further cleanse it, the power of her crest slowly starts to knit the skin back together. Wincing at the dull pain, she unloops a roll of gauze and begins awkwardly wrapping it around her arm, her shaky fingers struggling to knot it.

Claude comes into view, sitting beside her. He’s covered in soot and blood that she hopes isn’t his, but otherwise seems unharmed. “That’s too loose,” he observes, stopping her hands with his own. “May I?” When she nods, he begins unravelling her work, slowly and securely dressing her wound. “Nice work out there today. I’m relieved to see you haven’t lost a step as far as combat goes. Your command bringing my schemes to life, that’s just how we fight best,” he praises, knotting her bandage and patting her thigh lightly. It was the same kind of hesitant touch he’d used last night.

“Thanks, but we got lucky today,” Byleth admits, using her teeth to open a package of fresh gauze, pulling out a clean pad and pouring some water over it. She gestures to the cut on his forehead, and Claude leans forward, allowing her to dab blood away from the cut. “It was a smaller unit, but once word travels to Edelgard that we’re here, she might send a larger one to cut us off at the knees, and our campaign against the Empire is over before it starts.” 

“I know,” he sighs, his body visibly relaxing as she casts a heal. “I talked to Lorenz and Hilda earlier, and we agreed that House Daphnel would be our best option for reinforcements.”

“Judith,” Byleth recalls. She’d met her some time ago, and remembered how her father had sung her praises. It was rare of him to hold someone in such high esteem, but such was the situation for the Hero of Daphnel. “She seems reliable.” 

“She’s a fearsome one-woman army. She’s my…” he doesn’t finish the sentence, and Byleth doesn’t pry. When Claude keeps a secret, it’s impossible to force it out of him. “She did a lot for me, even before I was recognized as heir to House Riegan,” he backpedals, leaning back on his haunches when Byleth sticks a small adhesive over the cut. “I trust her more than any of the members of the Roundtable. Though I don’t love the idea of owing her more than I already do, given the situation there’s no room for pride. I’ll be reaching out to her as soon as we’re cleaned up here.”

They fall into heavy silence as the world moves around them. Byleth was usually fine with their silences, but there’s an uneasy tension between them demanding to be addressed. Claude’s unsettled eyes glance around, actively avoiding hers. He’d been oddly withdrawn after last night’s...incident. Even this morning he’d been unable to look her in the eye over breakfast. She wanted to ask what he was thinking, but she didn’t know how. “Do you need me to do anything for you in the meantime?” She asks awkwardly. 

“Just um, get ready for the coming battles,” he says, sounding relieved that she spoke first. “And take it easy, alright? 

“Okay.” 

And they’re back where they started. Insufferably awkward silence. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out. At the same time he also says, “About last night—” 

“You first,” he offers, and Byleth nods. 

“I’m sorry about last night,” she says quickly. “It was inappropriate, and I shouldn’t have instigated it because clearly you were uncomfortable. I just...I don’t know what came over me.” She truly didn’t. Byleth had laid in bed mortified as the reality of the incident sunk in. She’d tried to _kiss_ him. _Claude._ “I hope that this doesn’t make things...awkward between us.” Could they possibly get any worse? 

He seems surprised by her apology, gaping at her. “It’s fine,” he dismisses, though the smile on his face looks forced and his left eye twitches. “Really, don’t worry about it,” he insists when she opens her mouth to apologize again. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about doing the same.” 

Butterflies erupt in her stomach as she stares at him. He doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said, picking up bloodied gauze and her empty water bottle. “You’ve thought about kissing me?” She can feel a smile start to form and she bites her bottom lip to keep it from growing.

Claude freezes halfway between sitting and standing, hunched over but perfectly still. She could tell he hadn’t meant to say it, judging from the look of mild shock and the quickly brightening shade of pink he was turning. “I...I think I hear Hilda calling me,” he claims as he straightens fully, his voice coming out in a strangled whisper. “We were supposed to talk about the...um, the fruit budget.” 

“The fruit budget?”

“Yes,” he nods solemnly, his eyes once again flicking around unceremoniously. “Fruits.” He slowly starts backing away, laughing nervously as he goes. “I’ll see you later, Teach. Not that I expect to see you at a certain time or expect you to come to me. I mean that I’ll see you around— but not because I’m watching you or anything because that would be so weird. Anyway, I think I saw Hilda headed towards the wyvern stables so—”

“Claude,” she interrupts, holding a hand up to stop his ramble. “The wyvern stables are that way,” she informs him, her thumb pointing in the opposite direction of where he’s headed. 

“Right,” he laughs, clasping his hands together and turning to face where she’s pointing. “Get some rest, my friend. I’ll be...seeing you. In a platonic way. Not in my dreams though. I’ll just see you around. Not because I’m—”

“Not because you’re watching me,” she finishes, now unable to hide the smile breaking out on her face. “I get it. Now get over there and find Hilda, the fruit budget is very important.” He nods wordlessly at her, his mouth clamped shut. 

Byleth watches him walk away, something warm and new curling in her chest. Maybe that’s what the hole she’d felt in her heart was. It wasn’t an empty space because a piece had gone missing, it was simply a new empty space waiting to be filled with something great. 

She touches her lips, feeling their undeniable upwards curve. It may be too soon to tell, but she had a feeling she knew what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Edelgard's basement, Rhea shivers and has a dream about two troublemakers blaspheming on her terrace, and Seteth ends up doing her and Jeralt a solid.


	19. a different kind of torment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The return of Judith, the Hero of Daphnel and the second leading cause of Claude's most embarrassing moments.  
> _____
> 
> song rec for this chapter:  
> In Case You Didn’t Know - Brett Young

Claude was used to heat, but the temperature of Ailell was something else entirely. Even from his position in the air, the wavelike fumes of heat rippling upwards combined with physical exertion left him drenched in sweat. The layers of his uniform clung uncomfortably to his skin with each movement, his gloves slick with sweat from pushing matted hair off his forehead. 

The ambush had unfortunately been unexpected, and Claude when arrows weren’t flying by his head, he wondered how he’d let such a thing slip past his carefully planned defences. The Valley of Torment was a highly strategic meeting location, nestled safely between the Alliance and un-subjugated Faerghus territory. With Ingrid carefully coordinating with neutral House Galatea, Kingdom ambush was on the bottom of his list of possible misfortunes.

Yet here they were, battling precariously around the fiery lakes of Ailell, the putrid scent of burnt flesh and sweat singing the humid air. 

Down on the ground, the heat seemed to be slowing both armies down. Movements were sluggish and sloppy as the heat and difficult terrain quickly sapped their energy, only prolonging the fighting. Faerghan soldiers were some of the strongest out there, and the ones from the Silver Maiden? Even Felix seemed to have trouble piercing that armour, which didn’t bode well for the rest of them.

Byleth is by his side in a matter of seconds, her hair fashioned into a small bun at the nape of her neck. “Things aren’t looking good,” she informs him, blinking sweat out of her eye. “We need to start looking out for Judith and her troops.” 

“Judith can hold her own,” he tells her, hoping he isn’t wrong. The woman was just too stubborn to die. “We’re vastly outnumbered, and our own troops are losing momentum. Our best bet would be to find Gwendal and force a retreat.” It’s more of a suggestion than an order, because truth be told he’s just going with the flow. Byleth verbally agrees, but he can see the uncertainty in her worried eyes. Unpreparedness was any army’s worst enemy, and during an ambush? Claude didn’t like the idea of leaving things in the hands of the goddess, but it would be a divine miracle if they came out of this relatively unscathed. 

Another arrow whizzes dangerously close to his head. Claude quickly swipes the moisture from his glove onto his pant leg before reaching back to grab another arrow, taking aim at a figure clad in blue. Failnaught glows angrily as he draws the arrow back, one eye shut as he takes aim. 

“Claude, wait! Stop!” 

At Byleth’s command, he does just that, lowering Failnaught an inch and turning to see her flying up beside him on her pegasus, her eyes wide as she uses an arrow to point down at the figure he’s aiming at. “That’s Ashe down there! Our Ashe!”

Claude squints down, and sure enough he makes out a flash of silver hair amongst the flames. Sylvain had mentioned that Ashe had stayed in Faerghus. After the incident with Lonato, it appeared he’d harboured a bit more doubt in the Church than he had originally let on. With House Rowe leading the attack, Gaspard would have undoubtedly been dragged into the fight as well. 

He winces as the arrow of his former classmate pierces the skull of a soldier dressed in yellow. “Do you think you can talk him down?” He yells to Byleth, who takes out an approaching falicorn with a single well-placed arrow. As the enemy unit spirals towards the ground, she slings her bow onto her back, nodding at him. 

“Cover me, I’ll go talk to him.” He nods back, wiping sweat from his forehead as he watches her descend, sliding off Orion and calling Ashe’s name, slowly stepping towards him, her hands held up. Claude slowly circles the air on his wyvern as Ashe whirls around with his arrow pointed at Byleth’s forehead, shouting something at her. There’s no way he would kill his former professor, right? Especially if she were unarmed. Surely that went against at least one of his chivalric codes. Even so, Claude’s body tenses as he raises Failnaught again, just in case. He can’t hear what she’s saying to him, but it seems to make him hesitate. 

When Ashe lowers his bow a half inch, a blur of purple comes rushing out of nowhere, tackling him. He can see Byleth’s eyes widen as she watches Yuri and Ashe roll around on the ground. He hears her yell as Yuri ends up sitting on Ashe’s chest, pinning him down and pulling a knife from his belt, silver brandished threateningly. 

Claude inhales sharply as he raises the blade, and Byleth screams for him to stop.

The knife instead buries itself into the chest of an oncoming Kingdom soldier, and everyone relaxes. Byleth’s shoulders slump in relief as Yuri pushes off Ashe and offers him a hand, hauling him to his feet and slapping the back of his head before shoving him towards Byleth, who tosses him vulnerary before letting him follow Yuri back into battle.

Claude feels a small surge of pride. On days like today, it’s the little victories that matter. 

**__________**

When the battle ends in a narrow Alliance victory and what remains of the Kingdom forces retreats, Claude finds Judith already speaking with Byleth and Lorenz. Everyone is sweaty and tired.

“To think we’d get into a scrap here of all places, and with that old coot,” Judith huffs, flicking blood off her rapier. She seems to be unharmed. Had she been injured, Claude would surely never hear the end of it. “We’re lucky to have made it out alive.” 

“I’m sorry for involving you in this,” Byleth apologizes immediately, stroking the flank of her pegasus, who Claude swears turns to glare at him as he approaches. He’s never met such a petty creature. “We never expected Kingdom forces to intervene, Arianrhod’s soldiers least of all.”

“No need to worry yourself about me. In this day and age, it’s a miracle I’ve gotten around unscathed this long,” she dismisses. 

“Why?” Claude cuts in unceremoniously. “Are you so old now that your reflexes have slowed?”

Byleth chides him quietly, pinching his arm as Judith narrows her eyes, a wicked smile on her face. “Careful, boy. I may be a little mature but this blade is sharp enough to pierce the thickest of skulls. Yours included.” Claude chuckles as she sheathes her blade. The Hero of Daphnel could be described as many things, but ‘witty’ was always Claude’s go to. 

“Anyway, long time no see, Professor!” She grins, holding her hand out to Byleth, who gives it a firm shake. “Since the boy is still alive and kicking, I assume you’ve been watching his back as of late?”

“Can you quit calling me a boy in front of everyone?” He groans. At least right now the flush of his cheeks can be blamed on the heat. “I’ve been the leader of the Alliance for five years now, it’s not proper—”

Judith rolls her eyes. “Not proper, is it? Says the leader who has neglected Alliance territory for years. If you’re really the “Master Tactician,” and our oh so fearless leader, you should march your hide right back to Derdriu. Go back to whatever little desk you do your scheming on.” 

“The Master Tactician?” Byleth asks beside him, accompanied by a light laugh. “I thought you were ‘Leader Man.’”

Who even coined that? “Please don’t call me by either of those,” he begs, and while Byleth shrugs, Orion huffs indignantly. Even that damn pegasus is laughing at him…

“Why not?” Judith asks innocently. “It’s the perfect title for a boy who loves crafty schemes as much as you do. The professor can address you as she pleases. Without her around you’d be a scoundrel of a leader,” she teases, gesturing to his messy mop of hair, her nose wrinkling. “You certainly look and smell like one.” 

Claude sighs as Hilda, Lorenz, and Byleth all giggle. Maybe if he promised to be good and prayed really hard, a pillar of light would come and kill him. Or better yet, Judith. 

“Claude’s usually so flippant, but even he gets overwhelmed when Judith is around,” Hilda laughs, slapping his arm. 

“As expected from the leader of the prestigious House Daphnel,” Lorenz praises as Judith crosses her arms over her chest, a pinched look on her face as Lorenz speaks. “Even with their hastening decline and the absconding of their vote at the Roundtable, it’s good to see a leader with sense.” Claude can’t help but feel that one was directed at him.

“Thanks for the exposition, Gloucester boy,” Judith replies dryly. Claude knew Judith well, and knew for a fact that she’d grown tired of politics long ago. If she’d truly wanted to hold onto her vote, she could have very well done so.

“Boy?” Lorenz repeats incredulously, as if she’d called him something vulgar. “I will not—” 

“On a more important note,” Byleth interrupts before Lorenz can earn himself a sword in the gut. “Despite the obvious interruptions, thank you for upholding your promise. It can’t have been an easy choice, risking the lives of yourself and your soldiers like this.” 

Judith smiles appreciatively at her, a rare look of approval on her face as she not so subtly sizes Byleth up. “Of course. When the leader of the Alliance calls, you answer.”

“As the leader of Alliance, I’ll be honoured to take them off your hands and send you on your way,” Claude grins. “Thank you for your contribution, oh great Hero of Daphnel. Have a safe trip home. Try not to succumb to your arthritis on the way back.” 

“Hold your horses, boy,” she scoffs, and Claude inhales deeply. “These soldiers are precious to me. I made them what they are, and I’m not about to loan them out to anyone, even you.” 

“No? Then why come here?”

“I’ll be joining you. You’re going to fight the Empire alongside the Knights of Seiros, right? Fight for Lady Rhea? Not without me,” she announces, the tone of her voice not leaving much room for debate.

Claude’s first instinct is to say no. With Lorenz already breathing down his neck, he sure as hell didn’t need Judith there too. His pettiness was short-lived though, because this was a huge advantage, not just on the war front, but within the Alliance. To fight alongside the Hero of Daphnel would only prove beneficial. A united front and a powerful new general to add to his ranks. 

“That’s admirable and all,” Hilda says, “but we still don’t know for sure if Lady Rhea is in—” 

“Oh, she’s there. A witness saw Lady Rhea dragged off by the Imperial Army after the battle five years ago. I’m sure because one of my own saw it.”

Claude’s jaw drops. “You couldn’t have told me that five years ago? It never came up over dinner or in a letter?” He questions, though he shuts up almost immediately when her gaze hardens in his direction.

“Boy, you were too busy blubbering about your missing professor to hear anything about the Church. You wouldn’t even let me discuss it,” she shoots back.

Hilda and Lorenz suddenly decide that a nearby rock is more interesting than this conversation, and Byleth stiffens beside him. 

“That-that’s beside the point,” he stutters, suddenly feeling the combined heat of embarrassment and molten lava. “You’re the leader of House Daphnel, is it really wise of you to leave your territory unattended?” He asks, hoping she takes the bait and changes the subject. 

It just isn’t something he’s ready to discuss with Byleth yet.

“And what about you? Is it okay for you to leave Riegan territory unattended?” She retorts.

A flash of annoyance burns through his veins as an irritated sigh hisses through gritted teeth. “Riegan territory happens to be in the hands of a very reliable retainer and—”

“ _And_ that retainer is currently watching over Daphnel territory as well.”

This woman, brilliant and powerful as she may be, was a headache. A pounding, bring you to your knees headache. 

“You did _what?”_

Judith shrugs. “I asked nicely. Figured if Leader Man trusts him with our capital city he would also trust him with my little ol’ Daphnel territory.”

Byleth places a hand on his arm before he can respond. “Who is the retainer?”

Smiling, Judith raises a brow. “You’ve never met him, Professor? His name is Nardel. He strikes me as a really special individual. And he’s quite handsome too!” 

“So _that’s_ your definition of handsome?” Claude chuckles. “If you told him that much then it’s no wonder he went against my direct orders and took requests from other houses.” The man was a sucker for a compliment. And from a woman as fearsome as Judith? He probably offered to look after some _other_ territory too.

Despite the unbearable heat, Claude shivered at the thought. 

“Well, if all is good in Daphnel then I have no objections to you joining us, and I’m sure Claude doesn’t either,” Byleth says, looking at him expectantly. 

“What do you say? If there aren’t any objections, then House Daphnel is yours to command.”

As far as Claude sees it, Judith is coming along either way. “I think you’re coming even if I refused. Thank you, _Lady_ Judith.” 

She shakes her head. “Don’t thank me yet, boy. Thank me when it’s all over, because we have a long road ahead of us.” Claude looks around at their exhausted soldiers. Today was a struggle, and it wasn’t even against the Empire. 

“At least we agree on one thing.”

__________

“Boy.” 

Claude doesn’t look up, eyes glued to the map in front of him. “What?”

Judith makes a condescending noise and he hears her footsteps enter the room. “Dinner service has started. Judging from the smell, it seems to be the Spice Festival today. I know you like foods that can burn your taste buds so let’s go. Get your butt downstairs and get some food into your system.”

The Spice Festival was his favourite, but he was _so close_ to figuring out how best to breach the Bridge’s defences. “I’ll be down a minute,” he replies, scrapping another sheet of paper and chucking it in the general direction of the bin. Judith sighs dramatically bending down to pick it up and shoving it down the overflowing bin.

“You’ve been cooped up here for almost two weeks now,” she says, ignoring his protests and plucking the figureheads off the map, tucking them into a small box. “Your friends miss you. Even though you snapped at them during the war council today.” 

“I did not,” he lies, knowing full well that he raised his voice a little in the midst of his frustration. “I just need everyone to know how important this is. This move defines our presence in the war. If we want to be taken seriously, then we _need_ this to go perfectly according to plan.” Failure was _not_ an option.

Judith smacks his hands, forcing him to back away from the table and watch as she rolls up his map. “And your plans will be here tomorrow. After a meal and a good night’s rest. When was the last time you cleaned up here?” 

Claude groans. It was like living with her in Daphnel all over again. “I’m not a kid, Judith. I’m a fully functioning adult and I can take care of myself. I’ll eat when I’m hungry. Now give me back my stuff.” When he reaches for his map, she smacks him in the head with it. “Hey! What was that for?”

She looks down her nose at him, hands on her hips as he rubs the side of his head. “I know all this responsibility is new to you, but you still need to take it easy. Tired leaders are just as dangerous drunk ones. Stressed isn’t a good look for you to have either. It lowers morale.”

“I’ll sleep when the Bridge is ours again. If all goes according to plan, then we get the Great Bridge back _and_ the full military power of the Alliance,” Claude explains. 

As a difficult woman to impress, Judith just shrugs. “Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time around. But I didn’t march my men through the Valley of Torment for you to throw them away on _‘if,’”_ she says sternly. 

“Are you doubting my ability to pull off a scheme?”

“With a scheme like this, I need you to be one hundred percent sure that you can pull it off. If this goes wrong then we piss Gloucester off, and we alert the Empire to our plans.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He snaps, the irritation that’d been picking him finally hitting its mark. “The future of the Alliance literally rests in the palm of my hand. If I fuck this up then our campaign is over. So forgive me if I’m a little tense right now and am working nonstop to make sure this goes exactly to plan.” 

When she leans back with an unimpressed look on her face, he sighs, shutting his eyes and breathing through his nose. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“It was,” she agrees, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “But I’ll let it slide this time because I get it. You’re not exactly playing leader in the Academy anymore or pushing papers at your desk. We’re fighting at the front lines now, and those are real lives you’re gambling with. It’s a whole new field with potentially devastating outcomes.”

A fact that kept him up at night. “Yeah, I’m well aware,” he says tiredly, rubbing a hand down his face. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

“Yes, it is. That doesn’t mean you have to take it all on by yourself though. You have allies for a reason,” she reminds him, waving his rolled up map. “By the way, you’re wound tighter than a bowstring. Surely there’s someone who can help relieve some of that stress. Someone like that Professor of yours.”

“Teach is my general,” Claude says tersely. “She goes above and beyond what I ask of her, what more could I have her do for me?” He seriously can’t think of anything else to unload on her shoulders. 

Judith just stares at him, and he stares back. “She’s been wound pretty tight too. Maybe you could help each other find...release.”

Claude chokes on air, coughing. _“Judith,”_ he hisses between coughs. “I don’t even know if she’d want to-” 

“Are you alright? Is this a bad time?” 

They both turn to see Byleth standing at the door, a stack of papers clutched in her arms. Perfect timing as always. Claude silently waves her in, and she drops the papers on the table in front of him, patting the top as she says hello to a smug looking Judith. “You told me to drop these off when I was done reviewing them.”

“And?” He asks when he finally stops wheezing, swiping them before Judith can and sticking his tongue out at her. “How’s everything looking?”

Byleth reaches over and pulls a sheet from the pile, pointing at a few lines. “Ingrid suggested something a little more weather resistant for the pegasi and wyvern, so I moved a few things around so we have a little more money to spare for better armour,” she informs him, then handing it to Judith, who squints down at the print. 

“Why do you have a fruit budget? That’s an oddly specific thing to keep track of.”

Claude snatches his paper out of her hands, watching as Byleth turns away to hide her smile. “I like to know what we’re feeding our people, that’s all.” 

Byleth simply hums in what he assumes is agreement, explaining a few more changes in their military budget that he doesn’t quite hear because Judith is _staring_ at him. Not in the ‘get-your-shit-together’ way, but in the ‘i-can-read-you-like-a-book’ way that he’s never appreciated. As the woman who taught and nursed a lot of his people-watching skills, she was far too observant for his liking. 

Judith flicks him on the forehead. “Are you even listening to your professor, boy?” 

Unfortunately he hadn’t been, but years of sitting at the Roundtable as it’s members squawked amongst themselves made him good at pretending. “Absolutely. Great work as always, Teach,” he approves, beaming at her. His heart leaps into his throat when she returns it, her smile beautifully radiant.

“I’m going to get some dinner, why don’t you join me?” She offers, nodding her head towards the door. “It’s the Spice Festival today, I know it’s always been your favourite.” 

Pleased that she remembered, he forgets about Judith and her accusatory glance and gathers up the papers, handing them to Judith. “Right as ever, my friend. Judith here can clean up and we can-”

Judith grabs his arm as he walks around the table. “He’ll meet you downstairs for your date, Professor. I still have a few things I need to talk to him about.” 

Byleth blinks a few times, her face turning pink as Claude chokes on his tongue. “It’s not a date,” they say at the same time.

“Whatever you kids say,” Judith winks before turning her towards the door and giving her a nudge. “He’s all yours in no more than three minutes. Save him a seat.” 

“Ah, young love,” she sighs once they hear Byleth’s footsteps retreat down the hall. “Seems I was wrong before. You do have someone you trust helping you out.”

“I wouldn’t say _love_ …” he tries to lie, knowing full well what his feelings were. “It’s a deep and meaningful friendship upheld by trust.” 

Judith leans against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. “Sure, okay. But you do know that you have your mother’s eyes, right?” 

Claude bristles at the mention of his mother, his eyes instinctively sweeping the room. “What does she have to do with this?”

“I’ve known her longer than you’ve been alive, and I’m very familiar with that sparkly look you Riegan’s get when you’re in love. It was the look in Tiana’s eyes when she asked me to help her run away from home and cross the border into that magical land you were conceived in,” she chuckles. “She probably had that look in her eye when she handed you that letter and and all but dropped you on my doorstep all those years ago.” 

That certainly wasn’t how he remembered it, but now wasn’t the time to get into it with her. “What’s your point?” He asks suspiciously. The topic of his mother was a sensitive one, it always had been. “By the way, I was a treat. I brought some much needed spice to your life.” 

“By ‘spice,’ I think you mean ‘trouble,’ but don’t pivot and get me started on my list of grievances,” she scoffs. He’d been a little antsy during his time before House Riegan, and meddling had always been his favourite stress outlet, much to Judith’s chagrin. “Look, my point is that while you Riegan’s are a glutton for trouble and adventure, you’ve always followed your hearts. Since when were you so scared of conversation? Just _ask_ her.” 

“To sleep with me?” He checks, truly unsure by this point. Pep talks were never Judith’s strong suit. The best she could do is a shove towards the problem and a few well-intentioned insults. 

“No, just ask if she likes you back, you fool! You clearly have feelings for her.” 

“She did try to kiss me…” he remembers.

This time she uses the rolled up map to smack the back of his head. “She tried to kiss you and you still don’t know if she likes you back? Goddess help you, boy. Do women need to do _all_ the work these days?”

“It’s complicated!” He argues, moving away from her to avoid getting smacked again. “I’m the Duke I can’t just-” 

“As Duke, you can do anything you want,” she cuts in. “So can that professor of yours. Do you think a woman as powerful as her would be here balancing your books or playing general for you if she didn’t want to be? Either she likes and cares about you a great deal, or she hasn’t realized that she’s on the same level as Lady Rhea was, and has every right to refuse your requests.”

That doesn’t help Claude much, because with Byleth it could very well be both.

**__________**

“It’s pathetic,” Hilda whispers.

“It’s sweet,” Annette argues.

“It’s painful,” Dorothea corrects. 

“It’s none of our business,” Ingrid declares.

Sylvain looks down the table to where the girls are staring. “Oh, that. Yeah, the sexual tension there is so palpable that you could cut it with a knife,” he chuckles, watching as the professor laughs at whatever Claude says, oh so casually letting her hand rest on his forearm. 

Dorothea notices it too. “Look at that, they’ve upgraded to casual touching. Judging from how slow they’re moving, that’s like second base.” 

Sylvain squints to get a better look at Claude’s expression. “The dude looks so happy you wouldn’t even guess he’d just wrapped up a stressful war council.” 

“He’s under a lot of pressure,” Ingrid points out. “I don’t think it’s easy taking charge of an entire country.” 

“Still, he could cut us some slack once in a while,” Hilda huffs, pushing some of her vegetables onto Ingrid’s plate. “I’m tired of training and practicing maneuvers over and over again with the battalions. I know he just doesn’t want us to die but he’s so uptight about Myrddin and Judith being here. He needs to relax.” 

“What he needs is to get laid,” Sylvain mutters under his breath. Getting laid is one of his favourite ways to blow off steam. A hush falls over the table, and when he looks up, everyone is staring at him. “What?”

“That’s absurd,” Ingrid says, swatting his arm. “Is sex the only thing on your mind? You can’t just suggest that kind of thing.”

“No no, he’s right,” Hilda agrees slowly. “And we don’t have to suggest it to anyone, because we already have the perfect candidate. Someone just as stressed as he is.” 

All eyes fix on the professor, whose shoulders had been looking pretty rigid as of late.

“You can’t do that,” Annette exclaims, her innocent eyes wide. “Sleeping with friends is a bad idea. It ruins the relationship, and theirs is not one we can afford to mess with right now.” Sylvain makes a note to ask how exactly sweet little _Annette_ knows that. He always notes to check in with Felix.

“I slept with Dorothea and we’re still friends,” he points out, nudging the aforementioned woman, who glares at him. 

“It was once during a moment of weakness,” she clarifies quickly to the table, shoving him back a little. “And now I no longer prefer to sleep with men.”

Everyone laughs as he feigns hurt. _Come to Garreg Mach, Sylvain. It’ll be good to see everyone again, Sylvain. We’ll miss you if you don’t come, Sylvain. It might be fun, Sylvain._

Sure.

“But seriously, that won’t be a problem because they’re clearly more than friends,” Hilda says as the laughter finally dies down. “They almost kissed last month.” 

“What?” Is the collective answer from the group, including Ingrid.

Hilda looks up from her plate of food. “I thought you guys knew,” she says through a mouthful of fish. 

“Yes, these are the faces of people who know,” Dorothea huffs, pointing between her and Annette’s shocked expressions. “Details please. Who instigated it?”

Hilda purses her lips, tapping her fork against her lips as she thinks. “I don’t know.”

“Where were they?” Annette asks next, bouncing excitedly in her seat.

Frowning, Hilda only shrugs. “I’m not sure.” 

Sylvain decides to take a stab at it. “What were they doing?” 

Hilda pauses to think, leaving them all on the edges of their seats. “Not a clue.”

“Do you remember _anything?”_ Ingrid deadpans, that unimpressed look Sylvain is very familiar with on her face again.

Hesitating, Hilda rubs the back of her neck. “Well, I don’t remember the exact details. Claude came to talk to me about it in the middle of the night and I was barely conscious,” HIlda explains. “All I remember is that Seteth interrupted them before they could kiss and he freaked out and left without her. I’m just saying they’re at that point in their relationship, and they just need a little nudge in the right direction.” 

“But how do you know this is something they would want?” Annette pipes up. “Whenever I’m stressed, the professor recommends exercise or a nice cup of tea.”

Hilda gestures back down the table, where they’re both absorbed in a book Claude is showing her. “Look at him. He looks at her the way a parched man looks at a tall glass of water. He’s thirsty.”

Sure enough, Claude looks up as Byleth’s lips move to explain something to him, gazing at her as if she’s the only one in the crowded dining hall. Oh, the man was in deep.

“Don’t you Faerghans have any cool courting rituals?” Dorothea asks, looking between him, Ingrid, and Annette. “With your ancestors in so many chivalric tales of knighthood, there must be some kind of romantic tradition you refer to.” 

Ingrid is surely about to deliver an entire essay on the topic, but her preparation is interrupted by Felix, who drops his tray onto the table and plops down into a seat beside Annette. “Faerghans don’t have courting rituals,” he grumbles, shoveling food into his mouth. “All we have back home right now is vodka and misery.”

“But misery loves company!” Annette adds brightly, looping her arm through Felix’s.

Sylvain and Ingrid exchange a look as the tips of Felix’s ears turn red, Annette humming happily as she rests her head on his shoulder. Interesting. 

Hilda contemplates this, staring up at the ceiling for a few seconds as she thinks. “Just because you’re all miserable and cold in Faerghus doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be. My point still stands. While I can’t speak for the professor, I know Claude well enough. He’d never admit it to anyone, or even himself, but he likes her more than he might let on.”

“So you know that he likes her?” Sylvain confirms. 

“Of course.”

“But he didn’t tell you this specifically?”

She shakes her head. “No, but he definitely knows that I know.”

“So you know that he knows that you know?” 

“Yeah, keep up,” Hilda scoffs as the rest of them share confused glances. The mind of this woman confused him to no end. “Oh, this is our chance,” HIlda exclaims excitedly, watching as Claude rises from her seat and bids the professor farewell, walking out the door and leaving her with a lingering smile. “Sylvain, go over there before she leaves. Convince her to make a move on Claude.” 

“Why me?” He questions. “Why not you?”

“It’s the perfect ambush. You’re like a...giant puppy. Very non-threatening in a way.” 

“Excuse you, I’ll have you know that this face is dangerously charming. Wouldn’t want her getting the wrong idea or anything, you know?” He counters. _Non-threatening…_

“Do you want to get yelled at for being half a minute late again? Or do anymore treks through the rain?” Dorothea retorts. 

Ah, she’s got him there.

“Fine. You can all thank me later,” he decides, pushing out of his chair and walking down the length of the table. Who better to help Claude get a woman than Sylvain Jose Gautier?

The professor doesn’t look up as he slides into the seat Claude had occupied, nose still stuck in her book until he clears his throat. “Yes?” She asks, sounding a touch irritated.

“Good evening, professor. You’re looking lovely as ever,” he compliments, throwing a wink in. It’s always a good way to warm the ladies up.

It never worked with the professor though, not much did. As always, her face remains unreactive as she blinks at him. “Did you do something? I’m not talking down another girl for you.” 

“No, nothing like that,” he laughs nervously. “I was just wondering...you spend a lot of time with Claude, right?”

“Yes. I’m the general of his army. We’re required to work closely together and quite often,” she nods slowly, a hint of suspicion lacing her answer.

“Well, I meant more on a personal level,” he clarifies. “You’re good friends, right?”

“Of course.”

Sylvain nods. “Great. That’s good. Since you’re friends and all, I’m sure you’ve noticed that he’s an attractive guy. Nice head of hair, good bone structure, hypnotic green eyes. Trust me, I know all about hypnotic green eyes,” he chuckles, his own eyes looking back at Ingrid. 

The professor tilts her head as she follows his gaze. “I suppose Claude is rather handsome,” she hums, her brows creasing slightly as she regards him a little closer.

Taking advantage of her attention, Sylvain is able to continue a little more confidently. “Well, let me tell you something, professor. That pretty face of his is getting all marked up by anger lines. Have you noticed that crease on his forehead? It’s probably from all that snapping he does at us during meetings,” he exhales, shaking his head. 

“He has been a little less himself lately,” she agrees quietly. “Judith mentioned he was a little snippy with her earlier today.” 

“I see,” Sylvain murmurs, pretending to think as he strokes his imaginary chin hairs. “As his close friend and general, you should offer to help him relieve that stress. Preferably in a way that could extend your relationship. Deepen your bond.” He’s not entirely sure she’s picking up what he’s laying down.

She does seem invested though, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table. “How so?”

“Well, he’s attractive, you’re attractive, any ideas on how two very close and very attractive friends might come together to relieve stress?” 

She pauses to think. “We could take more walks around the monastery,” she suggests hopefully. 

Sylvain snaps his fingers, pointing at her. “Hey, there’s an idea. Walks are...nice. If you’re walking to the bed that is,” he adds quickly, flashing her his best smile.

Her mouth hangs open slightly as she blinks at him, and Sylvain busies himself with an interesting crack on the surface of the table, her stare burning holes into his head. 

“Are you suggesting that I— that Claude and I—” 

“I am,” he winks. “You get some, he gets some, and everyone’s a little less stressed. We all win.” It’s not the most eloquent wording but hey, he’s trying.

The professor quickly stands, gathering her plate, her entire face turning a deep shade of red. “I think this is what Seteth described as sexual harassment,” she mutters to him before hurrying away from the table. 

“No it’s not,” he calls after her, grateful that she isn’t holding her sword. “It’s sexual _encouragement.”_

**__________**

Byleth knocks on Claude’s door three times in quick succession, her chest fluttering as she the sound echoes through the quiet hall. She isn’t entirely sure what brought her here, but it was too late to lose her nerve now.

His muffled reply tells her it’s open, so she grasps the handle tightly, slowly pushing the door open a crack to stick her head inside. “Are you busy?” She asks when she sees him sitting at his desk, bent over some paperwork.

“Hey, Teach. I’m just finishing up here for the night,” he answers, not looking up. “Did you need anything?” 

Byleth pauses before answering. Did _she_ need something? The conversation with Sylvain echoes around in her brain, making her feel hot all over again. 

It wasn’t that his idea was necessarily bad. She chews her lip as she looks over his form, clad in only a white tunic and black pants that she knew hid broad shoulders and thick cords of muscle. He was witty, stubborn, smart, shrewd, and impossibly handsome. He was _exactly_ her type.

Byleth would be lying if she said she hadn’t felt a certain shift in her and Claude’s working relationship since she’d woken up. But especially since that night on the terrace. Since then, Claude had been on her mind. A lot. 

It was the way those emerald eyes met with hers across the table, locking her into a trance so intense that looking away was unthinkable. It was the way her skin tingled each time they touched, whether he simply brushed against her or gingerly held her hand. It was the dimples at the corners of his mouth when he smiled at her. A real, genuine, Claude smile.

“Um...I came to bring you some tea.”

“Oh, thanks. Just set it down here,” he grins, sweeping some papers aside and patting the free spot on his desk. “You’re a lifesaver, you always know just what I need.” 

What _he_ needs? What _does_ he need?

Sighing, she slips into his room, mindful of the stacks of books scattering the ground. It’s like a mini library. “Where is the tea?” He asks, and Byleth looks down at her empty hands, almost shocked. 

“I...forgot it,” she swallows. “Okay, I didn’t come here for tea,” she admits, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. “Actually, there was something I needed to talk to you about. It’s about us.” 

His quill immediately stops scratching along the paper. “Us as in...you and me, us?”

She nods. “Yes. I wanted to know if maybe you and I…”

Her brain tells her that this is a _very_ bad idea. They were about to wage war against the Empire. She’d read many novels about wartime romances, but most of the time they just weren’t applicable to reality. Love had no place in something as savage as war. 

“If you and I should match,” she says instead, gesturing to her white Enlightened One cloak. “Since we’re on the same team and all. Maybe I should wear a bit more gold.”

For some reason, she thinks he looks a little disappointed, the corners of his lips dropping slightly as he nods, his eyes unreadable in the candlelight. “Oh. That’s not exactly what I...Never mind, that’s a great idea, Teach. I’ll talk to Hilda about getting something made for you. I think you’d look beautiful in gold.”

She can’t help but feel disappointed in herself for chickening out. In a world where everything seemed to be laid by the goddess’ divine hand, the only true, genuine thing seemed to be love - invisible and weightless as it may be. It hurt to not share it with him.

Perhaps for now, she’d focus on getting them through this alive. If they both lived to see the end of this conflict...then maybe, just maybe, she could finally love him, and have him love her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -the next morning-
> 
> Claude, who somehow knows exactly what happened: Remember when you said you weren't going to interfere with my love life?  
> Sylvain, Hilda, & Dorothea: That doesn't sound like us at all.


	20. lady eisner

Byleth follows dutifully behind Claude as he leads her through the grand halls of the Riegan Estate, her eyes wide with wonder as she takes it all in. Beautiful beams of stained and glazed woods, neatly polished and dusted furnishings, ornate golden tapestries spun by the finest hands, embellished with the Leicester Alliance insignia. It was like the monastery, but better. It was Claude’s home.

“We should meet my retainer first,” Claude says, leading her up a flight of stairs. “He should be up in my study.” 

Byleth nods wordlessly, eyes glued to the paintings on the walls. Generations of Reigans dating back to Imperial Year 901, the year the Crescent Moon War ended and House Riegan assumed power. In this hall, the solemn faces of past Dukes and Duchess’ will forever watch over their successors. 

The final photo depicts faces that Byleth vaguely remembers. The late Duke Oswald and his son, Godfrey, stand behind a woman seated with her hands in her lap, her emerald green eyes boring into Byleth with an intensity she instantly recognizes. 

Claude’s mother. 

At the end of the hall, the doors to what she assumes must be Claude’s study fly open, and an unfamiliar man shouts something Byleth doesn’t quite make out. He quickly closes the remaining distance between them, and her hand instinctively grips the handle of her sword. 

“Is that you, kiddo?” He shouts, and before she can draw, the man’s hand clamps down around Claude’s shoulder, yanking him in for a hug. 

A hug. 

Byleth relaxes as Claude hesitantly reciprocates it, patting him on the back once before clearing his throat. They pull apart, and she notices his eyes flit back to her for a second. “I have returned, _Nardel,”_ he announces, the tone a shallow warning as he gestures towards the open doors of his study. “Shall we?” 

The man, Nardel, seems to remember himself, his eyes widening slightly as he bows in a matter that Byleth finds both awkward and poorly rehearsed before ushering them inside. “Oh, ah, Master Claude, it’s you, he corrects. “I mistook you for once of the village children.” Byleth almost loses her composure and laughs. 

First of all, Claude looks _nothing_ like a child. Second of all, his uniform and insignia make it obvious that he’s of nobility. Lastly, his portrait is hung up on the wall behind the desk, and by the looks of it, the portrait must have been commissioned only a year or so ago.

Her eyes narrow slightly as the two men chat amongst themselves. Whoever this _Nardel_ is - she’s fairly certain that isn’t his real name either - he’s a bad liar.

Claude, who is obviously in on whatever they’re hiding from her, chooses not to notice this. “It seems you’ve adjusted well to your work here. Your help was instrumental in our recent success at the Great Bridge.” Byleth is slightly surprised by how different his voice sounds. He’s dropped his usual carefree tone. It’s slowed to a formal drawl, both firm and authoritative. This isn’t Claude, leader of the Golden Deer. This is Duke Riegan, the leader of the Leicester Alliance. 

Byleth chews her bottom lip as she watches him. It’s kind of hot.

“I was a bit concerned when House Goneril’s army intervened from the east,” Nardel continues, and Claude sighs, leaning against the edge of his desk. 

“Count Gloucester must have requested their aid, though I doubt House Goneril seriously intended to intervene.”

Nardel shakes his head. “They merely arrived to fulfill their duty to House Gloucester. That young general of theirs is much wiser than that. The one who’s won some acclaim through his battles in Almyra?” 

“Holst,” Byleth says from her spot by the door. She’d met him briefly back during the Academy, when he’d requested Hilda’s help in repelling an Almyran attack on the Locket. “Holst Goneril."

They both turn to face her, as if finally remembering that she was there too. Nardel’s gaze is particularly surprised, and the smile that slowly spreads across his face seems to trouble Claude, who shifts his weight uncomfortably.

“Now then, this must be the lovely lady I’ve heard so much about these last five years. I must say, when the boy— er, Master Claude, described a woman with the power of a goddess, he failed to mention that you had the face of one too,” he grins, taking her hand and placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. “I can see why he was so smitten.”

“That’s enough out of you,” Claude warns. “She’s my professor, and our new general. Show some respect.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” Byleth nods. “As Claude has failed to mention, I have a name. Byleth Eisner.”

He releases her hand, though his smile remains as he graces her with that same awkward bow. “Ah, my apologies, Lady Eisner.” Byleth recoils slightly. _Lady_ Eisner? It just didn’t sound right. “Although...Eisner,” he repeats, tilting his head to look at her. “I’ve heard that somewhere.” 

“Her father is Jeralt Eisner,” Claude says. “A famous knight turned mercenary here in Fodlan. They dubbed him ‘the Blade Breaker.’”

Nardel seems taken aback, clearly recognizing the name now and looking very surprised. “The Blade Breaker is your father? By the gods. Stories of your father’s strength made their way around Almyra for a time. It’s quite rare for a person of Fódlani origin to be so highly praised.” He turns back to Claude. “With a warrior like that on your side, you’re sure to win this war.” 

Claude winces and shoots her an apologetic look. “He _was_ my father,” she tells Nardel. “He passed a while back.” 

“Ah, rather unfortunate. I offer you my condolences, Lady Eisner.” 

She nods, because it’s all she can do. It’s still a bit of a sensitive topic. 

Claude saves her. “As you can see, he wasn’t born in Fódlan. Still, trust me when I say that he’s highly capable.”

“True,” Nardel laughs heartily. “In fact, my capability is my only redeeming quality. If that’s all, I will take my leave of you both.” Neither of them protest as he crosses the room and maneuvers around Byleth. Just as he’s about to close the door behind them, he turns back. “I’m sure you’re just dying for a moment alone. Welcome back Master Claude. It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Eisner,” he waves before shutting the door. 

“Is everyone going to call me that?” She groans, taking a seat across from his desk. She certainly was not ladylike enough to fit the title. 

“You’re the leader of the church now,” Claude reminds her. “You’re getting the respect you deserve.” Byleth grumbles in response, arms crossed defiantly over her chest. “You better get used to it, because you will undoubtedly be the centre of attention at the Roundtable dinner this weekend.”

“There’s a dinner? I thought it was just the meeting.”

“Even in the middle of a war, the noble crowd can’t get by without a little mealtime gossip,” he scoffs, pouring her a glass of water. “That being said, it’s good for us to take advantage of it. Trust me, we need every chance we can get to soften them up before the Roundtable.”

Byleth blinks at him. “I’m not a politician, Claude. If it’s not to deliver orders, I can barely handle public speaking.”

“Well lucky for you, I have five years of experience in this type of thing. The dinner is two days away, I’ll make sure you’re more than prepared by then,” he promises. He’s right. Who better than Duke Riegan to have on her arm for the night? A man so crafty he could talk his way out of a war for five whole years. “Plus, I’m inviting the rest of our class. If anything, you won’t be the only one feeling out of place. Felix is bound to open his mouth and say something controversial and take the attention off of you.” 

The thought makes her laugh. It was all too easy to rile Felix up. “Okay. What’s first on your lesson plan?”

“Ah, well the first thing on Professor Claude’s schedule is lunch,” he announces, pushing off the desk and offering her the crook of his arm. “We can discuss Margrave Edmund as we dine. It seems that the student has become the master.”

Byleth rolls her eyes. It was going to be a long two days. “How long have you been waiting to say that?” 

“Too long, Teach. Too long.”

**__________**

The day of the Roundtable dinner arrives faster than Byleth could have anticipated. The last two days had been a blur of mental preparation as Claude eased her into the world of the nobility, and helped her study up on the Five Great Lords of the Alliance. 

With their lesser status and weaker connections, Edmund and Ordelia would be fairly easy to sway. So long as their House’s safety was assured, they would likely offer their support. Both fairly devout, the Church’s presence would ease their minds greatly. 

Goneril would be a little harder, as they were less devout and more military based. As spearheads in Fodlan’s first line of defence against Almyra, what mattered to them would be the amount of men they would be required to send over to the main army. But having both proved significant tactical prowess, Claude was sure that they would be on board.

Gloucester was where they weren’t too sure, and who Byleth was most worried about. Notorious for being keenly opposed to whatever Claude suggested, he would undoubtedly be the hardest vote to obtain. Even with Lorenz there to back them, the man was a wildcard.

Preparation was tedious, but with Claude’s coaching, Byleth felt sufficiently prepared for this dinner. She would eat, stick to their practiced script, and maybe engage in some small talk. She could do this.

“Professor, you need to stop fidgeting or I’ll never get all this hair into a bun,” Hilda scolds behind her with a particularly tight tug. Byleth huffs, glaring at her own reflection in the mirror. Sure, she was prepared for the dinner, but nothing could have prepared her for the actual process of getting ready. For the last half hour she’d been stuck at a vanity, having her face painted and powdered instead of practicing her speech. She'd slipped into a dress that was far too light and flowy to her liking, it’s sleeves and bodice embroidered with patterns of roses and lilies, hugging her like a second skin. A smooth, fancy, and very expensive layer that admittedly felt very nice. 

“Don’t you think all of this is really necessary?” Byleth grumbles, rearranging her half skirt (a single thin layer of tulle) as Hilda carefully arranges golden pins throughout her hair. She’d never dressed up like this before, having never owned a dress before arriving at the Academy. It was just never necessary. “It seems like a bit much for just dinner and a bit of dancing.” As Byleth stands, she wobbles a bit on her heels, carefully testing her steps like a newborn deer.

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Hilda says, grabbing her hand and placing it on her shoulder as she fixes her light skirt. “I know you’re new to this, so I’ll tell you one thing.” When she’s done rearranging Byleth’s skirt, she turns to the mirror to touch up her own makeup. 

“We aren’t at war council anymore, where power resides in those who wield Relics and goddess level powers. This is a different type of conference, a different type of battlefield. Here, a lot of them don’t care about physical strength. This is the political field, and even though I know you’re strong, and Claude knows you’re strong, the rest of them won’t see that. You’re new, you’re a commoner, and you’re a woman.” In the mirror, Byleth notices Hilda’s expression sour as the words leave her own mouth. “Practically all the cards are stacked against you.”

“Why does any of that matter?” Her father had taught her to never underestimate an enemy. Man, woman, child, anyone could be dangerous when overlooked.

“Status,” Hilda shrugs. “It’ll always matter. These people are born into nobility, and aren’t used to being ordered around. Then you come in, a commoner turned mercenary turned professor. Someone pretty much unknown. Yet you’re going to be the one commanding and leading their soldiers into battle, is in charge of their religion, and out of all their daughters, you’re the one on Duke Riegan’s arm tonight. The first thing that they’ll want to know is if you can handle all this responsibility. How you look tonight will be the first thing they refer to, so yes, all this is necessary.” 

Byleth frowns as Hilda fiddles with the neckline of her dress. “That’s ridiculous,” she scoffs. “Why should any man dictate my worth?” And based on how she _looked?_ If only they knew about the dagger strapped to her thigh, and the small blades she’d hidden under the soles of her shoes.

One could never be too prepared.

Hilda sighs wistfully, tugging the hem of her neckline down a little. “That’s just how it’s always been in the world of the nobility. I know you’ve always been quiet, Professor, but now isn’t the time to hold your tongue. When you go out there tonight, speak up and make yourself heard. If any of them - even Claude - interrupts you, speak over them. Show no weakness, Professor, because they’ll be looking for any reason to discredit you, especially Lorenz’s dad.” 

A knock at the door startles them both, and Byleth takes a deep breath in an attempt to settle her now buzzing nerves as Hilda goes to open the door. Byleth rolls her shoulders a few times, shaking out her hands and cracking her knuckles to relieve the tightness in her muscles.

 _No pressure. None at all._

It was only the future of their campaign on the line. The future of Fodlan, as Claude often put it.

“Are you ladies ready yet? Because I have a table of hungry nobles waiting for us downstairs. Count Gloucester looks ready to take a bite out of Margrave Edmund.”

Byleth’s nose crinkles as Hilda returns to her side armed with a powder puff, patting a bit more powder onto her forehead. “One is never late in the name of fashion. Especially when you look as great as we do,” she announces, grabbing Byleth’s arm and walking her towards the door. “What do you think?” Claude looks rather dapper in a perfectly tailored black and gold military uniform. Boots shined to perfection, hair neatly combed back, all clean edges and crisp lines. 

She can’t help but smile when her eyes meet Claude’s. He looks very handsome. 

“You look great, Hil. Prettier than a peach,” he replies dutifully, his eyes not once leaving hers. 

“You think I need _you_ to tell _me_ that? I know that I look good, I always do,” Hilda titters. “I was talking about our poor professor who’s deprived herself of lipstick her whole life.” She shoves Byleth forward, sending her stumbling into Claude’s arms. “Tell me I did a good job,” Hilda beams proudly, as if she were a student showcasing her prize winning project. 

“I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my life,” Byleth mumbles. “I’ve never been a fan of white clothes.” They dirtied too easily, and honestly? The colour washed her out. 

Claude leans back to get a better look at her dress as she grabs his forearms, using him to steady herself. Why did people wear heels? They were walking deathtraps. “If it’s any consolation you look like a dream, Teach. A good dream, not a nightmare. You look absolutely ethereal, and you smell incredible. Or is that just your sweat? Not that you look sweaty or anything.” Hilda rolls her eyes, and Byleth attempts to get a word in but of course doesn’t. When Claude goes on like this it’s nearly impossible to stop him. “My point is, you smell like a sweet summers-”

There was something about Claude’s aimless rambling that eased her mind. In this moment, he wasn’t the word savvy Duke Riegan, he was the mirror image of her own discomfort and anxiety.

“Okay,” Hilda interrupts, slapping a hand over Claude’s mouth. “As romantic as all of…whatever that was, I’m starving and unfortunately I don’t think you were anywhere near done. So let’s go before I eat the both of you.” She removes her hand and flicks the tip of his nose with a perfectly manicured finger before striding out, a swathe of pink fabric flowing behind her. 

They both watch her go, Claude with a sheepish look on his face and Byleth with an amused one on hers. As nonchalant as Hilda claimed to be, she was much more attentive than Byleth could have guessed. 

Sighing, Claude moves to her side, offering her a gloved hand. “Well, no use in delaying the inevitable. You ready?” 

“Do I have a choice?”

Claude sends her a wink, patting her hand. “Relax, Teach. There’s nothing better than putting old men their place.” 

**__________**

The ballroom of the Riegan Estate was a grand space, to say the least. Multiple round tables were scattered around the room, each one draped with a white tablecloth with gold trimmings, it’s centre laid with a runner woven with the Leicester Alliance’s insignia, and topped with a brass candelabra, holding smooth white candles whose wax never seemed to drip. 

The noise level was high. Laughter and enthusiastic conversation, clinking crystal glasses and the scratch of silverware came from every direction. The scent of cigar smoke and heavy perfumes filled her senses, mingling in with the steam of the fragrant dishes set in front of her as each course began. 

Each seat in the room was filled. The table closest to hers held the wives of the Roundtable members, chattering as they nursed glasses of wine, one of them eying her every so often. The table next to them hosted advisors, both military and domestic, hunched over their meals and conversing quietly amongst themselves. 

Byleth’s eyes swept the room, looking for familiar faces. She saw Hilda, Leonie, and Lorenz at a table with Holst, the latter three listening tiredly as Hilda spoke animatedly, waving her hands around in what she knew was some dramatic retelling. Another table held Lysithea, Annette, Marianne, and Sylvain, whose table honestly held more sweets than actual food. She took comfort in seeing her students, proving that not everything in this grand hall was so unfamiliar.

Even Claude seemed different as he sank into his role as Duke. His movements seemed practiced, consisting of stiff handshakes and flat greetings, so different from his usual joviality. Claude was a person who breathed life into a room, but here his typical bright smile waned, a facade that was slightly faltering as the night wore on.

Byleth sat at the table at the head of the room, sharing it with the members of the Roundtable. Unlike the rest of the room, her table ate in relative silence. Though the members were quiet, Byleth could feel their eyes on her, but pretended not to notice as they sized her up and whispered amongst themselves. Byleth tries her best to adhere to Hilda and Lorenz’s lessons in proper dinner etiquette. She uses the appropriate silverware for each course, places her napkin in her lap, forces herself to eat at a moderate pace with her mouth closed. She folds her hands in her lap when she’s not eating, and she’s been sitting with perfect posture for so long that her back hurts.

As the entree is brought around, she can’t help but notice that as he did during the previous courses, Count Gloucester doesn’t eat or drink until everyone else at the table has had at least a bite of food or a sip of wine.

She discreetly taps Claude’s knee under the table, and he leans in slightly. “Why does he always wait?”

He follows her pointed stare, the corner of his lip curling up. “He’s waiting to see if I’ve poisoned the food.” 

Byleth blinks a few times, half expecting him to offer her a real explanation, but he only goes back to his meal. Gloucester really does think that Claude would poison him. What an odd group they were, devoid of any trust in each other.

Byleth pokes at her fish, slumping slightly in her seat. Is this what all Roundtable meetings were like?

“Lady Eisner, what brought you to Garreg Mach?”

Byleth looks up from her fish, the members of the Roundtable eyeing her expectantly. It’s the first question they’ve asked her directly. She sets her fork down, clearing her throat. “I was asked to become a professor at the Officer’s Academy. I taught your children and Duke Riegan himself,” she answers, though it doesn’t seem to satisfy the prying eyes of the Roundtable members. “I also studied magic privately under Lady Rhea.” 

The members murmur amongst themselves before Count Ordelia looks up. “What is your connection to Lady Rhea exactly?”

“My father served twice as the captain of the Knights of Seiros, and my mother was a nun whom Lady Rhea was quite close to.” 

“Your father was Jeralt, the Blade Breaker?” Count Ordelia confirms, and Byleth nods. “You were a mercenary before becoming a professor, correct?”

“Yes,” she nods. “My father formed a mercenary company after he left the Knights. We travelled Fodlan for work.” 

Margrave Edmund hums thoughtfully. “How exactly does a commoner such as yourself become the leader of the Church of Seiros, assuming what might be the highest authority in all of Fodlan? I understand that your father was a Knight, but that still doesn’t explain why you were chosen. Why was it you, who was declared missing five years ago, and not Lady Rhea’s advisor, who spent those five years visiting the devout?” 

Byleth bites back a laugh. Even she didn’t know the exact answer to that question. “I didn’t always look like this,” she starts, gesturing to her hair and eyes. “The goddess...blessed me with her powers. She chose me,” she shrugs, lifting her palm and letting magic crackle off her fingertips, the Crest of Flames flickering with the candlelight. “So Lady Rhea chose me. That’s all I can tell you.”

The answer seems to satisfy them for the time being, Margrave Edmund nodding in what she guesses is approval, and speaking with Count Ordelia. 

“Keep playing the goddess card,” Claude whispers. “They’re less inclined to argue with what they don’t understand.”

“Lady Eisner,” Count Gloucester interrupts suddenly, drawing the attention of the entire table. “Duke Riegan has previously informed us of his decision to have you lead our military in the campaign against the Empire. Do you truly think that someone as inexperienced as yourself can command the movements of hundreds of thousands of soldiers?” He questions, his voice laced with a hint of malice and critical judgement.

“This isn’t war council, Count Gloucester,” Claude cuts in. “We aren’t here to discuss matters of military importance-” 

“It’s alright,” Byleth assures him, fixing the Count with a steady look. “Count Gloucester, I’ve been on and off battlefields since I was ten. In my years I have fought just about any opponent you could think of. Inexperienced thieves, hardened mercenaries, experienced assassins. I’ve fought through ankle deep snow, mud, desert, forest. I’ve battled through rain and raging flames. On boats, in towns, on beaches, you name it.”

She places a hand on Claude’s shoulder. “Alongside Duke Riegan, I have already led three successful battles against Imperial factions, and one against the Faerghus Dukedom. We drove them away from the monastery twice, once led by the Emperor herself, and once against General Randolph Bergliez, of the Empire’s House of MIlitary Affairs. We successfully reclaimed the Great Bridge of Myrddin,” she reminds him, noting how he shifts uncomfortably at the mention of his territory. “Where we defeated two of her generals. General Ladislava and Ferdinand von Aegir of the Black Eagle Strike Force. Freeing you of their occupation.” 

The table is silent, and even Count Gloucester seems to be at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. “I’ve trained in combat under the former captain of the Knights, and learned magic under the Archbishop. Noble or not, you will never find someone as experienced or capable as I am,” she finishes before going back to her entree. “And especially not one who wields the Sword of the Creator.”

Though Claude keeps his face neutral, she feels his knee nudge hers under the table and can see the sparkle in his eye as he looks ahead at the stunned expressions of the Roundtable members. 

Well aware of the smug look on her own face, Byleth reaches across Claude to grab the roll of bread on his dish, taking a bite and leaning back in her seat, hiking up her skirt with one hand and crossing her legs under the table. 

Claude was right. There really was nothing better than putting old men in their place.

**__________**

As soon as dessert is over, more champagne is popped and the tables are pushed to the side as a local music ensemble is brought in for the remainder of the night. 

And so began the part of the night Byleth dreaded; mingling. For Byleth was many things, but a skilled conversationalist was not one of them. It was disorienting, the cacophony of lively music, clapping, laughing, and loud conversation. All around her, palpable excitement charged the air releasing an outpouring of emotion. She watched people put on overly-friendly grins, shake hands with strangers, or pull them into hugs. 

The moment Claude had moved from his seat he was swarmed by a horde of noblewomen, all requesting a dance. Claude, the ever gracious host he was, accepted each one, shooting Byleth an apologetic look each time she waved him off. Byleth truly didn’t mind. It's always been easier for her to watch from the sidelines rather than participate. 

So she observes the festivity from her seat as Claude twirls yet another woman around the dance floor. Unlike herself, Claude seems comfortable and in his element here, all easy smiles and bright eyes that have women visibly fawning over him. 

She feels a twinge of something ugly deep in her gut as the woman plants a kiss on Claude’s cheek, which he then returns. _Wrong,_ her brain tells her. _Wrong, wrong, wrong._ What was wrong though? Someone else showing him affection, or her being jealous of it?

“Hey, Teach.” 

Her head snaps up at the sound of his voice, and she pretends to busy herself with a flute of champagne. She hadn’t even noticed Claude settle himself into the chair beside her. “That’s Lady Eisner to you,” she replies haughtily, making him chuckle. “You looked like you were having fun,” she adds, if not a tad bitter.

His brow creases, as if he detects her slight irritation. “It’s my job to play nice with everyone.” 

“I know,” she sighs wistfully, her posture deflating as she eyes the woman, who now dances with Lorenz.

The way Claude’s lips curl up into a smirk annoys her, sending a flash of heat through her veins. “Doth mine eyes deceive me, or is Lady Eisner _jealous?”_

Byleth scoffs behind her glass, taking a larger than normal sip. He’s hit the nail on the head, but she would never give him the satisfaction of knowing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t be coy, Teach,” he tuts, plucking a tart from her plate. “I’m quite the catch. No one would blame you for having fallen for my wily charm and roguishly handsome looks.”

She can’t tell if he’s joking or not, and it worries her. Doing her best not to seem at all flustered, Byleth forces herself to laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

She’s saved from his witty reply when someone calls for him across the room, drawing his attention elsewhere as Byleth breathed a quiet sigh of relief. 

“Ah, duty calls,” Claude says, groaning like a tired old man as he pushes out of his chair. “Will you save a dance for me, Teach?”

“You’re my escort,” Byleth reminds him. “We’re _supposed_ to dance together.”

When her eyes narrow at him, his grin only widens. “Then I look forward to it.” She watches him go, easily reverting back into his role of Duke as he navigates the room, greeting each guest by name as he passes them by.

“Charming, isn’t he?”

Count Gloucester now sits beside her, and Byleth immediately stiffens, quickly averting her gaze elsewhere and draining the champagne from her glass. “Duke Riegan, you mean?” 

He hums in reply, and Byleth flags down a server and trades her empty glass for a new one. “Yes. Our leader has quite a way with words, and a magnetism about him that draws people in, even if they themselves don’t understand it. He knows how to get people onto his side and rally them behind his cause.”

“He’s charismatic,” Byleth replies bluntly, unsure if she likes the direction their conversation is headed. “Like any good leader should be.”

“You could say that,” he nods, though the look on his face doesn’t agree with her. 

“And what do you say?”

“That he’s a schemer through and through.” When Claude calls himself a schemer, it’s amusing. However, when it comes out of Gloucester’s mouth, it just sounds insulting. “The only reason the Alliance is in discord at present is because of him. Now he gets to swoop in and play the hero, once again attempting to undermine me-”

“He saved your life,” Byleth hisses, any ounce of restraint she had disappearing into her bubbling anger. “If he’d fought the occupation at the Bridge earlier then you all would have died, and the Empire would have invaded. He gave you a critical part to play, be grateful. Now he’s going to end this war and save the people of Fodlan.” 

To her surprise, Gloucester _laughs._ He laughs so heartily that tears form in the corners of his eyes, and apparently it’s so unusual that the people around them have paused their conversations to stare.

“My dear,” he breathes, wiping the tears from his eyes as he sighs. “Duke Riegan doesn’t do things for the sake of others. He does them for himself. For his goals.” He leans close, so close that Byleth can smell the cigar smoke clinging to his suit. “So stop and think before you choose to fight at his side because when it comes down to it, he will _never_ put you first.”

**__________**

Claude finds her in the gardens, her eyes squeezed shut on her perch at the edge of the fountain. She’d run past him on her way out the doors, rushing right out into the cool spring night. 

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks softly. He knows better than to startle a mercenary, one who is always armed. 

Byleth doesn’t open her eyes. “I’m fine, just a little tired.” 

Claude knows well enough by now that when Byleth is tired, something is bothering her. “Is this about Gloucester? I saw him talking to you earlier.” The man knew how to get under a person’s skin and pick at their weaknesses. It seemed that sparking doubt was what he did best.

“No,” she denies a little too quickly. “I don’t...I don’t care about him.” 

“Good, you shouldn’t.” He takes a seat beside her, mindful of vines of ivy lacing the stone. “Gloucester is a bitter pill, but so long as he has the Bridge under control, he should stay out of our way.” She makes a noncommittal noise, but doesn’t argue.

“I should really have someone tend to the garden again,” he murmurs, prompting her to peek one eye open to look around. The stone path was punctuated with stubborn weeds. The disheveled, yellow, and un-manicured lawn was more squishy dirt and moss than grass. The once vibrant bushes of flowers were reduced to tangled thickets of thorn. Even the branches of the trees were built up of knotted boughs that hung sadly from their trunk.

He watches curiously as Byleth looks around. It’s a sad welcome, and he sorely wishes he’d had someone care for it while he was gone. “I feel like...I’ve been here before,” she breathes, shaking her head slightly. “Which is impossible, I know, but I just...It feels familiar.” 

Claude couldn’t recall a time she was here. The only time he’d seen her here...was in a dream. 

“A few months before the Millennium Festival I fell asleep out here,” he tells her. “I was a little admittedly a little drunk when I did, and I had a dream. It was...of you,” he admits. He’d never told anyone, because he’d been aware of how ridiculous it sounded. 

“A good dream or a nightmare?” She teases, and Claude swears she smirks at him.

“A good dream. A very good dream,” he assures her, still embarrassed from his earlier ramblings. “You were here, in this garden with me.”

“What was I doing?”

 _Breaking my heart and putting it back together again._

Instead, Claude stands up and offers her his hand in a flourished bow. “We danced and we talked. Come on,” he encourages when she eyes him. “You owe me one anyways as my escort.”

Sighing, she kicks her heels off, uncaring of where they land as she takes his hand, allowing him to pull her up before resting her free hand on his shoulder. His other hand automatically finds the curve of her waist. “Nothing too crazy,” she requests. “I’m not wearing any shoes.” 

As music drifts outside from the ballroom he leads them in a slow sway, her eyes not once leaving his. “What did we talk about in your dream?”

“About how much I need you,” he recalls, his hand tightening on her hip. _“You,_ Teach. Not your sword,” he clarifies before she can protest. 

“But it’s certainly nice to have, isn’t it?”

“It’s come in handy,” he agrees. A gentle breeze of cool wind flutters between them, and he feels Byleth shiver. He has to finish before she wants to go inside. “We talked about how you changed my life, changed _me._ How I’m nothing without you, because you’re everything.” 

“You’ve never needed me, Claude. Everything you’ve done up till now has all been you,” she points out. 

“I just kept us afloat,” he corrects. “But you help me move forward. You always do. You’re the wind beneath my wings. The needle to my compass. If I were religious, you’d be the answers to my prayers.” 

She tilts her head. “Was that supposed to be a poem?”

Ah, his Teach. Dense as ever. 

“No,” he laughs, “it’s the truth. You’re everything to me, and there are so many things that I want to see through with you. I want us to change the world together. I want us to always walk in step with each other and- are you okay?” He pauses when he notices her looking at him funny. She looks like she’s trying to decide something, her brows knitted together, and a slight frown on her lips as she regards him with such intensity that he almost turns away. 

In a move that takes him completely by surprise, she lets go of his hand and grabs the back of his neck, yanking him down to her level and pressing her cool lips over his. Claude’s eyes widen, his body momentarily going rigid as all the air is seemingly knocked from his lungs, the hand on his shoulder drifting up to cup the side of his face.

It takes him approximately three whole seconds to realize that Byleth is kissing him, and a further second more for him to realize that he’s kissing her back. 

The hand she dropped comes up behind her head, his fingers tangling through her hair as his other hand snakes around her waist, pulling her closer as a euphoric warmth blossomed in his core. His heart was beating so loudly in his chest that he could hardly hear the breathless sounds they were both making as their kiss deepened, tasting of sweet champagne. He’d never known that a kiss, something so innocent and mundane, could feel so electrifying.

It was the kind of kiss that obliterated his every thought. For once in his life, Claude’s mind was ground into the present, the world slowly evaporating away like summer rain. The thoughts that had been cycling through his mind had come screeching to a halt, and he had no desire for this moment to end. Drunk on rich wine and endorphins, Claude felt as if he were walking on air. A kiss like this was like a new beginning, a promise of much more to come.

When they finally broke apart, both panting and locked in an embrace, he rested his forehead against hers, their breathless gasps mingling. The swirls of emotion were almost overwhelming, but when he lifted his gaze to see her reddened cheeks and verdant eyes that held a softened, tender gaze he’d never seen on her, all his worries melted away. In this moment, there was no Roundtable, no crumbling Kingdom or barely patched up Alliance. It was just him and Byleth.

“Was that as good as your dreams?” She whispers. 

Stars above, did she even have to ask? “It was much, _much_ better than I could have ever imagined.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hilda, walking away five seconds before they kiss because she's bored and hungry: they're both too chicken to make a move anyways.


	21. the sleeping sand legend

As the acting Archbishop of the Church of Seiros and the esteemed general of the Alliance army, Byleth had many duties to perform on a daily basis. She oversaw the majority of activity here at the monastery. Battalion training, patrol assignments, restoration efforts, war council prep, Byleth played an active role in it all. 

Lysithea pokes her head into Byleth’s study. “Professor, have you seen Claude? He was supposed to meet me in the Cardinal’s Room ten minutes ago.” 

Sighing, Byleth sets her quill down, shuffling her papers into a neat pile and walking around her father’s desk. “I think I know where he might be. I’ll go find him for you.” Thanking her, Lysithea takes her leave, and Byleth follows her out, waving to Seteth as she passes his office. 

The whereabouts of one Claude von Riegan were yet another thing Byleth oversaw on a daily basis. As leader of the Alliance, one would assume that he’d make himself readily available to address the demands of his allies. Instead, the man was elusive, running off to hide goddess-knows-where the second that morning council was dismissed. Byleth would find him in odd places around the monastery, tucked away inside of overlooked nooks and crannies. 

On days where he didn’t want to be disturbed, he would choose those nooks to hide away in. Byleth would stumble upon him by accident. A flash of yellow underneath the stairs, an out of place rustle in the branches of a tree, and when she braved the chilling depths of the Holy Tomb as a last resort, finding him sitting on the steps leading to Sothis’ throne. He’d clamber out of his hiding place, updating her on the report he’d looked over, or indulging her in the contents of the book he’d stolen from Seteth’s office.

On easier days, he would choose less challenging spaces to occupy, setting up in the library or somewhere down in Abyss, surrounded by a pile of books or missives, working under the light of nearly burnt out candles. 

Byleth decides to start with his room. There’s a light drizzle of rain today, eliminating at least eighty-five percent of Claude’s usual outdoor options. With dinner service having started a few minutes prior, chances are the student dorms are empty enough for him to set himself up with a good book or some work.

She’s relieved when she finds him there, settled comfortably in his deck chair with his back facing her. Shutting the door softly behind her, Byleth doesn’t have to look to know he’s got a book in his lap, so absorbed in it that he doesn’t notice her approaching stealthily. When Claude is reading, he’s often drifted away into his own world.

“Hm, very interesting…” she hears him murmur, accompanied by the rustle of paper as he turns the page.

“What’s interesting?” She whispers into his ear, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. 

“By!” He startles, the book snapping shut as she places a soft kiss to the side of his neck. Neither of them were quite used to being so touchy-feely, but there was something about their new relationship that left her touch-starved and _wanting._ “How long have you been here? Don’t go sneaking up on me like that, you almost gave me a heart attack.” 

Her lips curl against his skin, and she watches as he shows the title of the book to her. “I’m reading the official biography of the Four Saints, as sanctioned by the Church. I know you’re not very familiar with the teachings of Seiros, but even you must have read it at least once.”

She hadn’t. The only thing she’d read in the library was the _Traveler’s Journals._ “I don’t think so.” 

Claude twists in her embrace, leaning back to look at her. “Tell me again...How exactly did you manage to get a job teaching at an academy run by the Church?”

“Nepotism,” she answers truthfully, making him laugh. 

He turns back to his book, a finger tracing the cover. “Guess I can’t argue with that. Well, whether you’ve read the biography or not, the Four Saints must at least ring a bell.”

“Mmhm, maybe,” she hums, her own finger fiddling with the ties of his white tunic. 

“Well then, I’ve got a little quiz for you. Name the Four Saints, companions of the great Saint Seiros. I’ll give you a hint. There was Cichol, Cethleann, Indech, and...who was the fourth one again?”

“Macuil,” she murmurs into his ear, the breath of warm air making him shudder slightly

“That-that’s right. I was hoping you’d know that much,” he replies a little shakily, unsteady hand opening the book and leafing through the pages until he finds his place. He points to an illustration, turning each page as he goes. “According to legend, Saint Macuil was more skilled with his hands than his fellow saints, and became an accomplished blacksmith. He used his skills to forge countless sacred weapons for the army of Seiros. Of course, he didn’t just forge weapons. He also used them in battle himself. Legends say his strength was second only to Seiros. It’s said that he even played a big role in the Battle of Tailtean. Macuil lost his life in that battle, and now his body rests in a coffin within the Holy Mausoleum. Isn’t that fascinating?” 

Truth be told, Byleth is only half paying attention, but Claude’s excitement is enough for the both of them. She feels his sharp intake of air as she slowly unravels the ties of his shirt. “Go on,” she encourages.

She can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks as he searches for his place, flipping to a new page. “Um...Another legend claims that he set off on a journey to find a new land. That he left Fodlan from the east, crossed the sea, and vanished. He must have left Alliance territory, but where exactly would he set sail from, I wonder?” He closes the book, exchanging it for a map of the continent. “Thinking about it reminds me of another interesting story concerning the Sreng region. The peninsula is attached to the mainland of Fodlan and extends from the northeastern part of Kingdom territory. If you would set sail from Margrave Edmund’s territory, you could cut across a stretch of sea and land there,” he explains, tracing a line with his finger and tapping the Sreng region. “It just so happens that in Sreng, there are ruins built to worship a sacred beast that appeared from across the sea. If the ruins have something to do with Saint Macuil, there could be sacred weapons there...Have I piqued your interest, or what?”

Byleth, who had by now completely forgotten why she’d come looking for him, only nods, slipping her hand beneath the fabric of his shirt. “Maybe a little.”

His body tenses at the feel of her cool hands grazing his skin, and Byleth knows he’s about two minutes away from giving in. “You always have to play it cool, don’t you?” He mutters, rolling up his map. “Just think of how useful it would be to have weapons like that! Not to mention that the peninsula would be pretty easy to get to about now, seeing as how Alliance territory has settled down a bit. We’d be there and back in no time. No one would even notice we were gone. Come on, By. Let’s go to Sreng.”

The ministrations of her nimble fingers stop as she processes his request, and Byleth pulls her hands from his shirt, noting how he deflates slightly at the loss of contact. She walks around him, hoisting herself up onto his desk, her legs swinging idly between his knees. “You want to go to Sreng _now?_ Claude, we just got back from Derdriu two weeks ago, and we’re marching for Gronder soon. We don’t have time for a treasure hunt.” 

“It’s not a treasure hunt. It’s an expedition.” 

“Your last ‘expedition’ led us to the Holy Tomb, where we were greeted by phantom soldiers and hulking metal puppets that almost killed Petra and Sylvain,” she reminds him flatly. 

“Key word _almost,_ ” he says, as if there was a difference. “Minor setbacks that still led to us picking up the legendary Shield of Seiros,” he quips, and while Byleth didn’t mind having the shield of the great Saint Seiros strapped to her arm, it wasn’t quite worth the harrowing experience of facing off against phantom soldiers and oversized tin cans that tried to skewer them with with javelins of light. “Come on, imagine the weapons we could find!”

“I can appreciate a good weapon, but to go all the way to _Sreng_ to find one? It’s not even guaranteed that we’ll find something.” Byleth wasn’t too fond of the idea of wandering through a desert that none of them were familiar with. 

Claude doesn’t argue, but reaches out and grasps her hips, sliding her to the edge of the table. His thumbs rub slow circles across her hips as he looks up at her through his thick lashes. “You always said you wanted to travel, By. Experience new things and make new memories,” he murmurs, voice as smooth and rich as honey. “Why not start with Sreng?”

She can think of many reasons _not_ to start in Sreng. Possible encounters with warlike clans, unpredictable desert terrain, giant sand crawling monsters. The list of undesirable possibilities and outcomes went on. Going to Sreng is _not_ a good idea.

Byleth however, has never been able to say ‘no’ to Claude. Especially when he looks at her like this, eyes gleaming with excitement at the mere thought of making a brand new discovery. It was this look that had convinced her to follow him down into the Holy Tomb just last week.

“Oh, fine,” she sighs, swatting his hands away from her hips. “I want to bring at least ten others though. We’ll mention it first thing tomorrow morning and we’ll head to Edmund right away.” 

The look that Claude gives her is a bad sign. “By, you know better than anyone that once I set my mind on something, I have to see it through right away. We should call everyone now and make the necessary preparations so we can be in Edmund by morning. If I wait any longer, I might die of curiosity.”

Byleth isn’t too sure they’ll be able to convince everyone to drop what they’re doing and come to Sreng of all places. It was easiest to rope people in during morning council, when they were still half asleep.

“Nothing will change your mind?” She checks, sliding off his desk and pushing aside stray books to take a seat on his unmade bed. Few things ever could, because once Claude set his sights on something, he was locked in for good.

Unless…

“Nothing can distract me now, By,” he confirms, and even starts piling all his research together. “Can you call everyone to the Cardinal’s Room as soon as dinner is done? I want to— why aren’t you moving?” He stops what he’s doing, frowning at her.

Byleth smiles wryly and reaches up to the collar of her shirt, slowly undoing its buttons one by one. “Nothing at all?” She asks innocently.

Claude inhales sharply, his knuckles turning white as he anchors his last bit of resistance to his research. But Byleth can feel his eyes burning holes into the exposed skin of her chest, and his voice comes out strained. “That is a very temporary distraction.”

“I know,” she nods, her eyes not leaving his as she slides her top off completely, leaving her half naked on his bed. “But is it working?” It’d been two weeks since they’d had a moment alone like this, so she knew it was.

Byleth gets her answer when Claude drops his research back onto the desk, immediately tugging his own shirt over his head and letting it drop to the floor. “On second thought, tomorrow doesn’t sound so bad,” he decides. Claude is on top of her in an instant, kisses pressed to the hollow of her neck and travelling upwards, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake. “You fight dirty, Byleth Eisner.” 

“I learn from the best,” she breathes, her hand curling into the hairs on the back of his head, guiding him up so they’re face to face. “Now shut up and kiss me, Claude von Riegan.” 

**__________**

Hilda rubs the sleep from her eyes, trudging into the Cardinal’s Room and dropping herself into the first empty seat she sees. Yawning, she wonders why Claude hasn’t said anything about her being late yet. Blinking her eyes back into focus, she looks to the head of the table, expecting the Professor to fix her with a unique mix of disappointment and irritation.

The goddess must have finally taken pity on her, because both the Professor’s seat and Claude’s are empty, sparing Hilda from a lecture and a guilt trip. 

Hilda checks the clock on the wall. Yes, it’s half past seven, fifteen minutes after she was supposed to show up for morning council. Everyone is present, minus their fearless leaders. She looks down the table at Seteth, who looks rather displeased at the fact. “Did...someone die?” 

Before he can answer, Claude strides into the room. He’s unusually undone today, his hair a mess, with strands falling over his forehead, half his shirt is untucked, and his gloves are missing. He doesn’t at all look like the put together Duke Riegan Hilda had come to know.

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologizes when he senses their stares. “Teach and I had some last minute things to go over this morning.” 

“Where is she then?” Seteth questions.

As Claude opens his mouth to answer, the professor walks in. “Apologies for the delay,” she says, claiming her seat between Claude and Seteth. “Claude and I were in the middle of some research and lost track of time,” she adds, patting the pile of papers in front of Claude.

They then begin to go over reports from the previous day, which Hilda automatically tunes out. She’s too focused on the fact that the Professor is wearing the same shirt as yesterday. 

Dorothea nudges her, and Hilda leans in. “Is that a hickey on her neck?” She asks, and sure enough Hilda’s eyes immediately zero in on the light purple mark decorating the side of the Professor’s neck, barely peeking from behind the collar of her shirt.

Hilda looks between her and Claude, then across the table at Sylvian. If the sneaky smile on his face is any indicator, he sees it too and the two of them share a knowing look. 

They all, however, smartly keep their mouths shut. Hilda knew well enough that the Professor and Claude were _very_ private people. She could already imagine the dozens of excuses they’d make up. The Professor had an excellent poker face, and Claude could spin a half lie pretty well.

No, confrontation wasn’t the way to go here. She just needed to wait for them to slip up and admit it themselves.

“So,” Claude continues, standing up and placing both hands on the table. “Who would hate to miss the opportunity of a lifetime by not joining Teach and I on a little trip?”

Looking around, Hilda can see the pained looks on everyone’s faces, clearly remembering the last time Claude had dragged them all along on a ‘little trip’ to the Holy Tomb.

“That’s some tricky wording,” Caspar grimaces.

“That’s usually how he gets us,” Raphael whispers back.

“Don’t worry guys, I’ve got this,” Hilda assures them, flexing her fingers as she clears her throat. Being around Claude for as long as she had, Hilda had learned to adapt. When it came to getting out of a Claude scheme, she was a master. “I would not hate to miss the opportunity of a lifetime by not joining you and the professor on any trip,” she announces, high-fiving Dorothea. 

**__________**

In the end, Hilda did not get to miss the opportunity of a lifetime by not joining him and Byleth on a trip. 

She’d grumbled all the way to Edmund territory, the whole boat ride to Sreng, and Claude was sure that he could still hear her grumbling behind him as she trudged through the sand. In the end, Claude had dragged nearly the entire Golden Deer crew out to Sreng, willing or not. Behind him trailed the merry team of his happy helpers.

Okay, maybe ‘merry’ wasn’t the word he would use to describe their expedition team. Sure, Annette was singing about bottles of beer on a wall and Felix seemed to be enjoying it, but the rest of the class was tired, sweaty, and much less enthusiastic than Claude was.

Sreng was hotter than any of them had anticipated. The desert region was covered in rolling hills, punctuated by patches of rough looking rock. In the sky the sun was at its peak, glaring down at them without a wisp of cloud to soften its harsh rays. Unlike the dense, humid air of Almyra, Sreng’s desert air was stiff and dry, blowing loose sand into their eyes parching his throat. 

The wyvern and pegasi flew above them, soaking up the sun they’d missed back in Fodlan, where the spring sky was still gloomy and grey. Claude had insisted on trekking the majority of the distance by foot, each step they took sank into the searing sand, no doubt making the trip longer. They had to be walking for at least a half hour by now, but it was just too hard to fly and read maps at the same time, and it was way too hot to be up in the sky.

Claude uses one hand to shield his eyes from the sun, squinting down at the map in his hands. “We should be heading southeast…” He turns the yellowing paper around. “Or maybe northwest.”

“Those are two very different directions,” Byleth frowns beside him. 

“A shrewd observation, Teach,” he replies dryly, not unaware of the irritated look on her face. He’d surely pay for that later. “This map must have been made ages ago. Half the landmarks aren’t even around anymore.” Looking around, all he saw was sand and stone. Nothing indicating the ruins of a temple dedicated to an ancient beast of a time long lost.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Ingrid asks, panting lightly in the heat. “Please tell me we didn’t come out here for no good reason. Our time would be better spent reorganizing our forces at the Bridge.” 

“Wherever would I be without the faith of my allies,” Claude mutters to himself. Then louder, “The Bridge is yesterday’s news, Ingrid. We’re looking for cool weapons to help us end the war.”

Ingrid doesn’t seem satisfied with his answer, but when is she ever? She’d somehow only grown more critical of him over the years. “Do you even know which way we’re supposed to go?”

He turns the map around again. “I think so?” 

“You _think?”_ She repeats, in a voice that sounds more like a threat than a question.

“Patience, Lady Galatea,” he sighed, hoping she wouldn’t skewer him with her lance.

Claude continues leading his classmates in what he _hopes_ is the right direction. If they come back empty handed, he’s in for an earful from Seteth and is definitely going to get an ‘I told you so’ from Byleth. Two things he could decidedly live without. 

Her approach was inaudible as always, but Claude was very familiar with the feeling of eyes honed in on him, sending a prickle up his spine. It was her soundless tread that had allowed her to be observant of the happenings around the monastery. 

That being said, surely she was aware of how obvious it was when someone was burning holes into the back of one’s head. “No matter how hard you look, you won’t see what I’m scheming,” he calls behind him. “I know you’re watching me, Teach.”

She let out a harsh breath through her nose, sounding similar to that evil pegasus of hers before moving to his side. “I know do. I let you,” she sniffs indignantly.

“You’re bolder than I expected, so openly checking me out like that,” he teases. “Can’t get enough of this ass?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m following it through a desert, aren’t I?”

“And I greatly appreciate your company, my lady.”

Byleth makes an assenting noise, but doesn’t offer much else. She’d been a tad withdrawn since setting out this morning, which said a lot for someone typically kept to themselves. He wanted to ask her if it was about him, but didn’t feel comfortable doing so under Hilda, Sylvian, and Dorothea’s suspicious stares

Claude sighs, giving up on the map and deciding to follow his instincts. Surely if they kept moving they’d find something, and surely if he’d asked, she would answer. “What’s on your mind?”

She took a deep breath, her looking over her shoulder once before staring straight ahead. “A lot of this...emotion business is still new to me, and there are still some things that I don’t understand so…” she gestures vaguely between them. “What is this?”

He nods slowly when he catches her meaning. They’d certainly had their fun in Derdriu, sneaking in and out of each other’s bedrooms in the dead of night, sharing stolen kisses in the privacy of his study. Aside from last night, things had cooled considerably in the two weeks since they’d returned to the monastery. They kept their distance, the both of them opting to keep their affair private to avoid unnecessary questions and attention. 

The truth was, Claude wasn’t fond of making - whatever they were - public. He himself had enough targets on his back, painted on him by enemies both domestic and foreign. Associating Byleth’s name with his would put her in harm's way, and he’d never forgive himself if something happened to her.

But she had a right to wonder. So, what _were_ they? They’d never actually discussed it. “In public, we’re partners,” he settles on. “A highly efficient team.” Lying was always easier when there was a sliver of truth to it. 

“Okay.” The word comes out monotone, and her expression is set with that damn poker face he can never quite read.

Without being able to get a proper read on her thoughts, his own mind can’t help but spiral. Why was she asking? Was she unsure of his commitment to her? “In private,” he continues slowly, testing the waters. “We can be anything you want to be. A relationship goes both ways, so even if I don’t feel alive without you and you’re the very air I breathe - if you don’t feel the same, I’ll let you go. I just want you to know that I waited a long time for you. Five years, to be exact. So, I want to be with you as long as you’ll have me.”

When she doesn’t answer, he spares her a hesitant glance. She’s squinting into the distance, pointing in front of them. When Claude turns forward again, he sees huge walls of stone erect from the ground. 

Ruins. 

“Be on the lookout,” he instructs his team as they approach. “No unnecessary risks.”

**__________**

The Wind Caller is a bitter, oversized draconic chicken that Byleth is quite frankly getting sick of. While the majority of their team are handling stray archers and assassins, her and Claude had turned their attention to the huge beast.

 _“Hmmm…”_ It growls as Byleth extends the whip of her sword, glaring down at her with beady eyes full of anger. _“Those who stand before me...How long has it been? Hundreds of years? Thousands? You have the stink of Sothis upon you...Let us find out whether you share her power.”_

Byleth hesitates. Stink of Sothis? 

The Wind Caller takes advantage of her pause, it’s great wings releasing a magically charged gust of wind, hurtling straight for her. She manages to throw herself out of the way at the last second, skidding through the sand. 

It’s about to unleash another gust of wind when a glowing arrow pierces its wing, and it cries out in pain, twisting around in search of the archer. 

_“I smell those detestable 10 Elites...Who are you?”_ It bellows when it spots Claude circling the air on Alya, his unmistakable white wyvern. 

“I’m the grandson of the grandson of the grandson of the elite Riegan,” Claude answers flippantly, drawing another arrow. “Now tell me who you are!” 

_“I am your family’s enemy. If you carry the blood of the 10 Elites, you cannot be permitted to live.”_

The arrow loaded into Failnaught glows with power as Claude takes aim. “What do you mean by that? And what’s that crest on your forehead?” Byleth inwardly groans. Even a rampaging beast wasn’t enough to throw him off his mystery. Too close. He’s flown too close to get a look at the crest on the beasts’ forehead.

 _“No more talk,”_ it answers, raising its wings. _“If you wish to survive, you must destroy me!”_

Byleth watches anxiously as Claude is about to let his arrow fly, when movement out of the corner of her eyes catches her attention. An assassin had broken through their ranks, armed with what she recognizes as a Killer Bow. 

That has an arrow pointing straight at Claude. 

Byleth’s stomach drops, her sword arm acting on its own accord as it sends the whip of her sword slicing through the air. 

The arrow leaves the assassin’s bow the second before her sword pierces his heart, and Byleth lets out a strangled cry as she watches it tear through Claude’s shoulder. The impact catches him off guard, and she’s forced to watch as it knocks him off balance, plummeting towards the ground.

Alya screeches in panic, diving towards her rider, but like Byleth, she’s too late. He hits the ground in a cloud of dust. 

Byleth scrambles towards him, flipping him onto his back as she checks his neck for a pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there. He’s just been knocked unconscious. Though he hadn’t been awfully high in the air and the sand considerably softened his fall, a quick check tells her he’s broken at least a rib or two, and one look at his left shoulder tells her he’s either broken or dislocated it. He’s still alive, but badly injured and they’re currently in the middle of nowhere.

 _Too risky,_ she decides. 

The sound of shattered glass fills her ear as light and dark inverted around her. As time’s flow was forced to a halt, she could see the ruins perfectly. She could see Hilda on her own wyvern and Ingrid on her falicorn, eyes wide as they stared at Claude. She saw Marianne and Dorothea running towards them, their faces pale. Yuri and Felix had their swords drawn, drawing the Wind Caller’s attention away from them. Byleth looked back to where the assassin was now laying, following footprints in the sand to see the path he had approached from. 

People moved backward, shadows and light shifting as time slowly rewound itself. Claude was lifted from her arms, floating up back onto the back of his wyvern, his flesh knitting itself back together as the arrow retracted itself. The assassin returned to his hiding place, and Byleth carefully retraced her steps and took a single deep breath before letting go.

Light and dark reversed back, and Byleth blinked a few times to regain her bearings as time resumed, thirty seconds earlier. 

The second that the assassin rounded the corner, her sword met his chest, and he dropped his bow before the arrow could meet string. 

She breathed a sigh of relief.

Only to watch the Wind Caller release a gust of wind so large that it’s impossible for Claude to dodge, sending him flying off Alya anyways, this time throwing him so far that his back meets stone with a resounding crack that chills Byleth to her core. 

Sothis’ words echo through her head.

_If turning back the hands of time was not enough, you must accept what came to pass was fate._

No matter what she did, Claude would still fall. 

Regardless, Byleth once again runs towards him, dropping to her knees and immediately checking his pulse. 

She doesn’t find it.

Tears blurring her vision, the world shatters around her as light and dark reverse. Though both shitty, one is still better than the other. 

She watches as the arrow tears through his shoulder again, watches him fall, and faces off against the Wind Caller with what remains of her students as Marianne, Dorothea, and Annette move Claude’s limp body away from the ruins, screaming at them to fix him. 

When the Wind Caller had _finally_ been defeated (by the Sword of the Creator tearing through its chest) the thing had fallen asleep, and Ashe was able to pick open an expensive looking chest, pulling out a sword engraved with the Crest of Riegan. 

Byleth didn’t care about the sword, though. She’d tossed it to the nearest person, instructing everyone to pair up with a flier and head back to the ship. She’d flown with Claude in her lap, all but strapping his unconscious form to his wyvern’s back, swearing that this was the _last_ time she let him talk her into an expedition.

**__________**

Claude slowly drifts back into consciousness, waking with a splitting headache, two unbelievably sore shoulders, and dull pain pulsing through every inch of his body. His only relief comes when he sees Byleth sitting at his bedside, his hand clutched between both of hers, her head laying on the edge of his bed. 

Under the candlelight, he blinks the room into focus, trying to get his bearings. The small cart of medical supplies tell him he’s in the small infirmary below the deck of their ship. The soothing rock of the ship indicated that they’re close to Alliance territory, where the waters are leisurely enough to ensure smooth sailing.

A gleam in the corner of the room catches his eye, catching on the blade of a sword that he’d never seen before. Trying to get a better look, Claude forces his upper half into a sitting position, trying not to jostle Byleth’s head.

Byleth has always been a light sleeper.

And no, she doesn’t wake up extremely relieved to see his wonderful green eyes again, or kiss him all over thanking Sothis that he’s alive. No, the first thing Byleth does is _glare_ and _snarl_ at him, and Claude is fully considering feigning unconsciousness. “Are you _stupid?”_ She hisses, though she’s still holding his hand. “You almost died, Claude, all because you wanted a closer look at some crest stone on the forehead of a _beast.”_

It was, admittedly, an incredibly stupid move on his part, but he’d just been so curious. He’d been so engrossed in the mystery that he’d forgotten to survey his surroundings. “Key word, _almost,”_ he jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, but the look on her face says she doesn’t appreciate it.

“You need to be more careful,” she frowns, sounding less angry and more concerned. “I’m not always able to -” she pauses, and there’s something on the edge of her tightly pursed lips that make Claude so damn curious as to what else she could possibly be hiding. “- to look out for you. What happened to no unnecessary risks?” 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I rarely follow my own advice.”

A hollow laugh escapes her throat. “Oh, I’ve noticed.” 

“Don’t worry, I think I learned my lesson though,” he chuckles, looking down at all the bandages wound around him at present. It’d been a terrifying fall, and definitely wasn’t something he was fond of doing again. “So, are you going to let suspense finish me off or are you going to tell me about where you got that fancy sword in the corner?”

Releasing his hand, she moves to the corner and reaches down to grasp the handle of the broadsword, holding it out for him to see. “We found it in a chest nearby after we defeated the Wind Caller. It’s engraved with the Crest of Riegan. I’ll fill you in on the rest of the details later.” 

“I’ll be sure to read the report,” he nods, reaching for the sword and trying to hide his grimace. 

“Ah ah. Stay,” she tuts, as if she were talking to a monastery dog. “You almost killed yourself for this sword, I won’t let you strain yourself for it too. You’ll need to take it easy for a while,” she says, setting the sword against the medicine cart. 

“Doctor’s orders?”

 _“Professor’s_ orders,” she corrects, which he’s more inclined to take more seriously than Manuela’s. She tucks another pillow under his head, and he feels a pulse of faith magic flow through his veins as she smooths over his bandages. Claude is about to make a witty retort, but it dies in his throat when her hand comes to rest over his heart, and he looks up to meet misty eyes. “You really scared me,” she says softly, and the guilt at making Byleth upset hurt more than any injury he’d sustained from his fall.

Claude doesn’t say anything, simply scooting as close as he can to the wall and patting the free space beside him. She hesitates, shaking her head. “Marianne might come in, and there’s not enough room, I might end up-”

“Shut up and cuddle with me, Byleth.”

Maybe it’s because he’s hurt, or maybe it’s because he looks pitiful all bandaged and bruised. It’s probably both, because for once Claude wins, and Byleth carefully slides in next to him in the small cot, repositioning the thin blanket over the both of them. She props herself up on her elbow, her left hand coming up to gently push sweaty clumps of hair from his forehead. 

“I’m sorry I was reckless,” he sighs, relishing in the feel of her cool fingers against his scalp. “I’m a grown man, you shouldn’t have to keep an eye on me all the time.”

“I’m always going to look out for you. I just want you to be careful because I need you as much as you need me. And...” She doesn’t finish her thought, leaving Claude hanging.

“And?” He presses, trying to find the answer within the depths of those verdant eyes he loves.

With a small smile, she shakes her head. “It’s nothing," she lies. "Just go to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth: _no more expeditions_  
>  Marianne, being harassed by a crest scholar: professor! help!  
> -later-  
> Byleth: claude N O  
> Claude, talking to the Wandering Beast: claude Y E S


	22. a lesson in trust

Dawn is a magical moment. It’s a rare time of day when the world ceases to breathe, basking the earth in heavenly light and serene silence. 

Today’s dawn was particularly bright, stirring every creature in Garreg Mach to wakefulness. At this time, Marianne would be on her knees, offering prayers to the goddess before heading to the cathedral for mass. For people like Leonie and Ingrid, dawn meant a head start, already on their way down to the stables to prep their mounts. For Petra, feeling the first rays of sun on her face meant it was time to wrap up her morning meditation, rolling up her mat before heading down to the wyvern stables. 

Felix would return from a jog and start oiling his blade, Lysithea would close her book and start getting dressed for breakfast, Ignatz would gaze out the window to admire the beautiful colours of the sky. There was nothing more intimate or genuine than the way one went about their morning routine.

Unless they were Hilda, to whom the sunlight was merely a signal to pull the covers over her head before returning to her slumber.

Mornings were typically a reflective time for Claude. He rose the gentle orange light of the rising sun, taking advantage of the tranquil energy of the monastery by opening up a book to read or his journal to write. He liked having this time to himself, before the world required the attention of Duke Riegan. 

Then Byleth had come back into his life, and he started waking up in her room more often than his own. 

Suddenly everything became about her. The feel of her body pressed against his, the sight of her hair splayed across her pillow, the smell of mint and lavender on her skin from last night's bath, the sound of her soft sighs as she dreamed. Waking beside her left an image in his head that he wished he could have Ignatz capture. For in these peaceful moments he loved to see her face unburdened by the weight of the war and the people she’d lost. 

When Claude felt her stir, he would close his eyes. Her lips would gently press against his shoulder before she carefully slid out of bed. Only then would Claude let one eye slip open, slyly following her every movement. Byleth didn’t waste a second of her mornings, each task performed meticulously and in fixed order. 

Since they were marching for Gronder today, the first order or business was her uniform. A snap of her fingers lit the small burner she used for tea before she placed the iron on top of it, doing her morning stretches as she waited for it to heat up. Watching her stretch while wearing nothing but his shirt was a gift Claude would forever be thankful for. Claude was by no means religious, but the way the taut muscle of her arms and stomach flexed made his thoughts downright sinful.

Once the iron was heated she’d replace it with a kettle of water, laying her dress out on the ironing board and softly humming an Almyran children’s song as she used the iron to eliminate any wrinkles. Once her dress was done, she would hang it against the wall. Then she would open up a canister of Almyran Pine tea and scoop an amount into a sachet, allowing it to simmer as she ironed his Silk Dragon garb, handling the material as carefully as he would. 

After all ironing was taken care of, she stowed away her materials and slipped her cloak on before heading to the sauna to wash her face and brush her teeth. She would even bring back a basin of water for his own use. 

When she returned, she would pour two cups of tea, allowing them to cool while she slathered a thin layer of moisturizer onto her face and slipped into her uniform. When each button is done up and her boots are pulled on, she opens her desk drawer and pulls out last night’s updated surveillance reports, sipping quietly at her cup of tea as she reads them. It was her small moment of respite in the midst of war, and Claude felt privileged to be privy to it.

Without looking up from her papers, she says, “I know you’re awake, Claude.”

Of course she knows. “Good morning,” he murmurs, glancing up at her with both eyes this time. He pushes the blanket aside and gets out of bed. He’s about to give her a kiss, but is blocked by his toothbrush. 

“Clothes first, kisses later. We really can’t be late to council this morning.” 

Claude complies, plucking the toothbrush from her fingers, but not without sending her a pout that she so easily ignores. “Baby,” she mutters, pushing him towards the basin.

Toothbrush in his mouth, Claude perks up. “Yes, dear?”

“No, I’m calling you a baby.”

“Only for you, O’ blessed Enlightened One,” he says through a mouthful of toothpaste. “Stars of my night, sugar to my tea, water to my-” 

He can’t help but feel a little smug when she sets her papers down with a sigh. “If I kiss you once will you stop talking and get ready?”

He quickly rinses his mouth out. “By, asking me to stop talking is like asking the sun to stop shining, but will you kiss me anyways?”

When he leans down, she grants him a chaste peck on the lips, ducking away before he gets the chance to deepen it. “Get changed first,” she instructs. 

Retreating to the other end of the room, he quickly gets dressed, carefully handling the SIlk Dragon garments. When he finishes tugging his boot on, he catches the comb Byleth tosses at him, using it to slick back his hair and rid it of any tangles. 

“Done,” he tells her, receiving a hum of acknowledgement. “Want me to do yours?”

The offer never failed to bring a smile to that blank face of hers. “Yes, please.”

Claude moved behind her, carefully running the comb through her unruly locks. Her hair had grown since she’d given it that shoulder-length chop five years back. While Claude thought she looked good with any length of hair, he quite liked tangling his fingers through these long, silken tresses. “Want a braid?” She liked wearing her hair in a braid, and Claude loved braiding it. He loved the sense of normalcy it brought into their lives, and loved imagining what their mornings after the war might look like. 

She nods, and continues reading as he brushes. “Anything on those unidentified troops that approached the Bridge? Any follow-ups?” He asks. They were remnants of the House Blaiddyd loyalists, last he’d heard. 

“Nothing,” Byleth replies with a frustrated sigh. “Nothing from Judith, Shamir, or even Yuri’s spy networks. It’s still too hard to get information in and out of Kingdom territory.”

Especially after they’d killed Gwendal the Grey Lion at Ailell. People didn’t take too kindly to them after putting down such a highly regarded Faerghan knight. He’s not too sure if they’d be keen on allying with them at Gronder.

Claude separates her hair into three parts. “If they’re headed the same way as us…”

“That could be bad,” she finishes. “I don’t like not knowing, especially if they’re going to be troops from houses Gautier and Fraldarius. Those aren’t enemies we want to meet on the field.”

“I know,” he agrees, beginning to weave the strands into a braid. “I don’t enjoy being caught by surprise, but we’ve prepared as best as we can. There’s just no way to predict this fight.” 

She hums in agreement, reaching over her shoulder and handing him a thin golden ribbon, which he uses to tie her braid off. Taking a step back, he can’t help but admire how she looks in the warm light. When he sees like this - wearing a uniform donning his colours, and the same insignia stitched into her Enlightened One cloak - all he wants to do is drag her back into bed and never leave.

He can’t do that today though, because outside her door was a war they needed to end. 

“We’ll pull through,” she murmurs over the rim of her teacup. “We have some of the best tactical minds on our side of the field, and that’s one of the reasons why Yuri and Constance are already out there laying the groundwork of our strategy.”

Claude’s hands come to rest on her shoulders, noting how tight the muscles are and rubbing his thumbs in a circular motion. “Well, it wouldn’t be an Alliance victory without one of my secret schemes already in motion, would it?”

“They are quite advantageous, yes, but don’t get cocky just yet,” she says coyly, and when she reaches up to pat his hand, he feels a small shock of electricity pass through her fingertips. Oh, how she loved to tease him. “Just make sure you don’t break formation, and promise me you won’t put anyone in a precarious position, no matter what happens. I would rather suffer the shame of a retreat than the heartbreak of a loss.”

After flicking the shell of her ear in retaliation, Claude continues rubbing her shoulders. She’d been like that as of late, insisting on keeping all her former students within her sight or in positions where she knew they would be safe and well protected by elite battalions. He wondered what had caused this sudden overprotectiveness. 

Another small shock to his hand makes him chuckle. “This is the part where you say ‘Yes, General Eisner.’ Like a good soldier.”

Claude takes a seat on the edge of her bed, grabbing the legs of her chair and dragging her over. “Yes, General Eisner,” he murmurs, each word punctuated by a soft kiss to the back of her neck, making her shiver. There was nothing hotter than a woman in charge.

And in charge she was, pressing her lips against his once before pushing his face away. “Time to start the day,” she sighs, pulling him to his feet. “I’ll go first, then you-” 

He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her into him, sealing his mouth over hers, swallowing her words as his insistent mouth parted her lips. The kiss tasted of tea and mint, cool and warm at the same time. He felt her lips curve upwards as her hands slid up his chest and grip his shoulders, pulling him closer. It’d be the last time in the next week or so that he could kiss her properly. They’d both be too busy assessing their losses and reshuffling their troops to share another moment like this. 

So he kissed her slow and deep, already yearning for the moment he would get to kiss her again.

**__________**

Claude’s next dawn on the plains of Gronder Field was nowhere near as satisfying.

It’d been in the early hours of morning when their scouts had come rushing back to camp and their soldiers had received a rude awakening. A chorus of shouts erupted from the camp, as weapons and armour clattered and orders were yelled. Chaos and panic had risen in response to the thundering step of the army approaching the opposite end of the field at alarming speed. 

The final orders came from Byleth, who’d been the eye of the storm, the calm amidst the chaos. Archers stationed themselves in the forests and on ledges, aviary units took to the skies, the cavalry stood at the bay. All of them watching grimly as Byleth sent the first battalions of soldiers across the bridge to greet the Empire. 

Claude stood silently beside her, his wyvern and her pegasus both whining restlessly as their companions soared above them. Their class would follow in the second wave, after they’d had a chance to finally assess the situation.

Balls of fire broke through the thick fog and rained down onto the plains where their soldiers stood, a warm greeting from the Emperor herself. Like pawns in a game of chess, the weak were the first to go, an unfortunate sacrifice in an attempt to weaken the queen’s defences.

Fire also rained down in the east, where Claude caught a glimpse of the unmistakable Blaiddyd blue banner. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Felix shake his head slightly. The Kingdom was here. All three countries were here.

“As far as big class reunions go, this one’s gotta be the worst in history.” Claude muttered, looking to Byleth. She wore a melancholic look on her face as she turned back to look at her former students gathered behind her, waiting for their instructions. It reminded him of the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, but with a much darker twist.

 _Not a bad place to wage war, is it?_ He’d joked back then.

As expected, they watched as a blur of red armour claimed the centre hill, stalling their approach towards the southern bridge. On Byleth’s signal, Claude held an arrow out to Lysithea, whose hand sparked with fire and lit the arrowhead.

Claude lifted Failnaught and drew the flaming arrow back, watching as it launched well over the river and embedded itself at the foot of the hill.

Yuri and Constance had said it’d be fast, but he didn’t think it’d be this quick. In mere seconds the entire hill had gone up in a burst of green flames, with a blast so strong that a wave of hot wind had seemed to reach them all. The blaze immediately swallowed whoever had been unlucky enough to take the hill.

 _I have my eye on that low hill over there. See it?_ He’d pointed out to Byleth once, in a time where his schemes were nothing more than silly suggestions to her. _It’s the ideal spot to lure our enemies to, and then surround them with fire._

Seeing it in real life was much _much_ more different than he could have imagined. Instead of feeling pleased with his tactics, all he felt was dread as guttural screams echoed throughout the plains.

He couldn’t take it back now, though. The fire on the hill had signified the beginning of something much more gruesome than any of them could prepare for. 

Byleth raised the glowing Sword of the Creator and immediately began shouting orders. 

It was time to begin.

**__________**

Within an hour, the once empty plains of Gronder field had fallen into complete madness. 

The sounds of battle roared in Byleth’s ears. Screams pierced the air, metal ground against metal, wings beat furiously, magic crackled. The fog was replaced with black smoke wafting from the still burning hill, stinging her eyes and filling her lungs with each breath she drew. 

Byleth stepped over a corpse, the blade of her sword piercing a nearby archer clad in red. Drawing her blade back, she leapt over another corpse and continued down her path, the sword in her hand glowing angrily, squinted eyes sweeping the field for enemies and daring anyone to approach her. 

Unable to properly coordinate with the Kingdom army, a bloody three-way war had been waged, and everyone who didn’t share her colours had suddenly become an enemy, and the battlefield was an absolute mess. The once verdant fields were trampled, burnt, and stained crimson, littered with bodies dressed of all three forces. At this point, who even knew what they were fighting for? Peace seemed a faraway concept.

Edelgard slashed through battalion after battalion with cold precision, hurtling a tomahawk at whoever approached her. She barely moved throughout the field but the damage she’d dealt was devastating. 

Risen-from-the-dead Dimitri moved across the field with wild and reckless abandon. He cut down Alliance and Imperial forces alike, uncaring of who stood in his way. What could’ve been minutes or hours ago - she couldn’t tell anymore - Byleth had watched him swing Areadbhar at Felix. 

Claude expertly weaved through the sky atop the back of his magnificent white wyvern, providing support to his allies below and raining arrows down onto his enemies. 

_I hope the day never comes when we have to put this experience to use._

They certainly wouldn’t be sitting down together and feasting after this battle.

Another long hour passed, and still the battle raged on. With the threat of the ballista eliminated, the azure skies were ruled by the Alliance. Byleth pauses momentarily to watch as Felix drags a sobbing Annette away from Mercedes’ unmoving body. Mercedes, who taught Byleth how to make sweet buns.

Another hour, and a new wave of Imperial soldiers rushes the field, this time accompanied by demonic beasts. Byleth provides cover for Dorothea, who stares in shock at Bernadetta’s half burnt body. Bernadetta, who braved a rare trip outside of her room to place flowers over her father’s grave.

Both Alliance and Kingdom forces were falling back as new battalions of the Empire’s incredibly strong mages emerged from the smoke. She watched grimly as Dimitri pressed forward on his own, stomping right into the heart of the Imperial army. 

Frantically, Byleth began shouting orders to her students, repositioning her forces in defence of the southern bridge, switching from offence to defence. If the Empire managed to break through, then the Great Bridge of Myrddin would be left vulnerable, even with Judith’s forces hanging back to protect it. 

_“Lysithea! Do it now!”_

Byleth stiffens at the sound of Claude’s voice ringing down above them. Do _what_ now? She hadn’t been informed of any such plan involving Lysithea on the field. 

The familiar glow of green warp magic filled the palms of Lysithea’s hands, her actions soon mimicked by the remains of her battalion. Byleth’s head swings around as she dodges the spells being thrown in her direction, trying to figure out who the hell is being warped. 

The shadow she hadn’t realized was cast over her disappears, and Byleth’s gaze is drawn upwards. Ingrid’s battalion is no longer above her, and Claude and Hilda aren’t where they’re supposed to be.

And just like that, everything goes to shit. 

Yes, Ingrid’s elite group of pegasus knights considerably reduce the amount of mages on the field, but warping takes a lot of energy out of their own mages. Without Claude watching from the skies, Lysithea is left without aerial support and is caught off guard by a stray archer.

Without Hilda, Petra is left to defend the left flank on her own, and is eventually overwhelmed.

Without Ingrid and her pegasus knights, Constance and the Nuvelle Corps are left vulnerable, and Byleth watches as one by one they drop from the sky, with their leader following. 

Hilda takes a few hits but presses on, only to be felled by Hubert. 

“Fuck,” Byleth mutters as the sound of glass shattering fills her ears. Time is being rewound pretty far, and she feels her chest tighten at the exertion. She goes back to when she’s ordering the defence, scraping together a new strategy. 

There’s no changing Claude’s mind now, the only way is to work around it. 

Light and dark revert back to normal as time resumes, and Byleth quickly begins barking new orders. She flags down Sylvain. “Hey, go cover Lysithea and watch for archers in the bushes,” she instructs. 

She grabs Yuri as he runs by. “Get your bow out and keep your eyes on Constance and the Nuvelle Corps. A new wave of pegasus knights is coming.” He doesn’t question her, nodding and sheathing his sword, drawing his bow as he continues on. 

“Ashe!” She yells, and waits as he emerges from the forest on horseback. She points towards where Petra is. “I need you over there helping her out.” 

Everyone is in position by the time Claude yells his command, and Byleth scowls as she makes one final change. “Felix, head my battalion,” she instructs, ignoring his pointed protests. “Don’t let anyone on that bridge.”

With that she dashes across the field, side stepping heavy fists, rolling under axe swings, dodging arrows, and twisting around sword swings. Her muscles screamed in protest but she forced herself forwards. 

She uses the whip of her sword to clear mages with Ingrid, and gets to Hubert before he can unleash the final blast of magic upon Hilda, her sword driving into his shoulder and forcing him to retreat. 

Byleth watches tiredly as Dimitri barrels towards Edelgard, who readies her axe as Claude descends upon the both of them. This battle was far from over.

**__________**

When the battle finally dies down and all three armies pull back, Claude finds Byleth at the medical tent, helping Marianne tend to the injured. She hadn’t come looking for him after the fight, which was extremely unlike her. 

“Hey,” he says, wincing as he watches Byleth jerk Leonie’s shoulder back into place. She casts a quick heal before sending her out. “You okay?” He asks when she doesn’t acknowledge him. 

“I’m fine,” she replies sharply, in a terse tone that indicates to him that she’s anything but. “Are you hurt?” 

Claude looks down at his limbs. He’d been grazed a few times, but nothing major. “No.”

She gives him a once over to confirm, then nods her head towards the flap of the tent. “Then leave.” 

He could only blink in confusion as she turned back to the case of elixirs, completely ignoring him. 

“Edelgard got away,” he tries, not leaving. “I suppose she lives to be defeated another day.” He knew she was injured though, because he’d watched his own arrow pierce her chest.

“That’s fine.”

She doesn’t add anything more, and Claude feels nervous butterflies erupt in his stomach. “I suppose a win is a win, regardless of the circumstances.” 

“That’s right.” 

She’s still not looking at him, so Claude decides to take the loss and retreat. Maybe she’s just a little tired? Whatever the case, cracking Byleth open and getting her to bare her emotions required the utmost preparation and the most intricate of plans. For now, he’d lick his wounds and think up a new approach. 

**__________**

He corners her a day later after war council, stopping her after all other attendants have left. 

“Hey, talk to me,” he insists. She’d made herself scarce, and he’d watched from a safe distance as she took meals with the rest of their friends, laughing and talking as if nothing was wrong. Having her within arms reach but completely unreachable had almost been as painful as the five years he’d been separated from her. He missed her. “What’s going on with you?”

Her pile of reports lands on the table with a loud thud that makes his palms start to sweat. 

“That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

He’s lost. Truly lost. “Uh, what do I do?” 

“You’ll say and do anything to get people to trust you, but you don’t even trust them.” 

Caught off guard, it takes him a few seconds to formulate a response. “That’s not true,” he denies. 

“Do you even trust me?” She follows up, her voice trembling as her eyes narrow.

“Of course I trust you,” he answers immediately. 

She takes a step towards him, and even though she’s a full head shorter than him, he feels so small under her glare. “Then why wouldn’t you tell me what you were planning at Gronder? I told you not to break the formation, but you did it anyway. We agreed that holding a line of defence was our priority.”

So that was what this was about. He should have known it would come back to bite him in the ass. “I wanted to keep the Empire from closing in. I didn’t tell you because it wouldn’t have affected your movements on the field. It was just Ingrid and her battalion along with Hilda and I.” 

“But that affects everyone!!” She argues, her voice steadily rising. “Do you know how many people died because of the stunt you pulled? How many of our friends?”

Now Claude is _really_ confused, because everyone had been present in council just minutes ago. They were battered and bruised, but they were all alive and accounted for. “But...everyone was okay.” His scheme had worked flawlessly. Ingrid and her pegasus knights had gotten the jump on those weird mages, and he’d managed to confront Edelgard.

“Because I _fixed_ it,” she seethed. “I fix everything, and I wouldn’t have to if you’d just trusted my commands and followed my tactical plans like everyone else.” She reaches forward and shoves his arm. “What would you have done if Hilda had died because you acted out of line? _Hilda?_ ” 

“She would retreat before she even came close to death.” He’d obviously taken that into account. The girl would take any excuse to get off the front lines. 

Byleth takes another step forward. “Well then you don’t know her as well as you think you do, because you,” she jabs her finger into his chest. “You asked her to do something, and she would hate to disappoint you.” 

“I- I had a plan,” he says quietly. 

She rolls her eyes at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “You always have plans and schemes that you never tell me until it’s too late. You didn’t tell me about the fire attack when Randolph attacked. You didn’t tell me that you were gonna launch an attack on Acheron’s territory. I am the general of your army, Claude. I have a right to know what you’re planning. You aren’t the only one with tricks up their sleeve and knowledge in their brain, but sometimes you act like it!” 

Byleth had never raised her voice at him in such a way. Sure, she’d argued with him here and there during council, but never like this. In fact, no one had ever called him out and thrown such truths in his face. Like always, she’d seen right through him and had finally snapped, refusing to take his shit. 

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he mumbles, avoiding her hot gaze. He knew that if he’d told her he was mobilising any of their friends, she would panic.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes at him. “Really? Or are you just saying that because you think that’s what I want to hear?”

Honestly? He’s saying it because the apology clings to the tip of his tongue, refusing to let go. They were words he always had a hard time forcing out.

“From now on I expect you to run _all_ of your plans by me,” she continues, not waiting for him to answer. “I need to know what goes on out there, because I’m sick of it. Do you know how hard it is watching-” she cuts herself off with a huff, staring angrily out the window.

 _There it is again,_ he thinks, wondering what it is that she isn’t telling him. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s nothing,” she replies a little too defensively. “Just tell me what you’re planning next time, so I know who and what to look out for and can devise tactics accordingly.” She pushed past him to walk away, but Claude grasps her wrist before she can go. 

“No, you were going to say something,” he presses. “You’ve been...off lately. What have you seen? What’s going on with you, really? I can’t fix my behaviour if I don’t know how it’s bothering you.”

He’s surprised when he doesn’t immediately draw her sword and cut his hand off or blast him with magic, but he’s hit with the coldest glare he’s ever received in his life instead. “This isn’t the academy, Claude. I’m not some mystery that you have the luxury of unravelling right now. Fixing your own behaviour shouldn’t depend on me telling you my secrets. Make the change on your own.” 

Claude could see the hurt flickering behind the rage in her eyes, and it made him feel nothing but guilty.

**__________**

At dawn the next morning, Claude wakes up alone. 

There was no magic, only a heavy silence as he pulled on his wrinkled uniform and ran his fingers through his hair. 

He’d hardly slept last night, Byleth’s words echoing around in his brain. Each time he closed his eyes, the hurt look on her face haunted him.

Three sharp raps interrupt his pitiful routine, and when he opens the door Felix stands there, sword in hand. “What did you do?” He snaps, a scowl on his face. “Answer quickly before my hand slips and I cut you in half.”

He’s too tired to feel threatened. “Excuse me?” 

Irritation burns in his gaze. “The professor. She’s handling her blade differently. It’s sloppy. What did you do?”

Claude sighs. “We had a fight.” More specifically, he’d messed up and she’d yelled.

His eyes soften in the slightest, as if he understands. “The only way to fix it is to talk to her and apologize, and make sure she knows you mean it.” 

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Felix lifts a brow. “Since when has that stopped you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later, Byleth wonders why no one seems to be having any problems, and Judith tells her that both her and Duke Riegan have the day off, and an unexpected interim leader greets the Deer for morning council.


	23. things you've never said out loud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song rec for this chapter - Fallen by Gert Taberner

Hilda peeks around the corner, wondering who left _Flayn_ in charge of guarding the door, facing off against the one person who wouldn’t be swayed by her innocent charm. 

“Let me in,” Byleth demands, already impatient. 

She fully expects Flayn to immediately oblige, but she holds her arms out, barely covering a quarter of the massive oak doors. “...No.” 

Byleth tries to step around her, sighing as Flayn follows her movements, bodyblocking her. “Let me in, Flayn. You’re making me late.” 

Green curls bounce as she shakes her head. “I cannot, Professor,” she refuses again. “My orders for today are to not allow you into the council room, or any room where official matters are being conducted.”

“Who gave you those orders? Was it _Claude?”_ She questions sharply, and Hilda wonders what the heck had caused the recent rift between them.

“No. In fact, Claude is also barred from official matters for the day. I just sent him off.”

Byleth’s eyes narrow in the way that still makes her students cower with fear, but Flayn holds her ground. “If I’m not allowed in, and Claude isn’t allowed in, then who’s in charge?”

“I’m not at liberty to divulge that information to you.”

The hand that isn’t holding papers rubs her temple. “Seems like no one tells me anything these days. Now _Flayn-”_

“I must ask you to leave, Professor,” the girl says stiffly, “They’re doing some very important work behind this door. Work that requires the utmost attention as we prepare to advance on Fort Merceus.” 

Byleth waves the papers in her face. “Work that requires _these_ intelligence reports.”

“Those are last week’s reports, Lady Judith has provided new ones.” 

“Well I can’t get the new ones if you don’t let me in.” She tries to move around again, but Flayn steps with her.

“You’ve been dismissed from your duties for the weekend, Professor.” 

Her mouth opens and closes a few times, and Hilda doesn’t think she’s ever seen the professor look or sound so dumbfounded. It’s kind of refreshing. _“Dismissed?”_ Oh, she doesn’t like that tone. It’s the same impatient tone she’d used when repeating the word _‘extension?’_ Followed all too quickly by a flat ‘no.’ “I can’t be dismissed from duty, I’m the one who dismisses people. So Flayn, if you don’t let me in I’ll-” 

“Professor,” Flayn gasps. “I hope you will not attempt to bully me into submission. My brother would not be well pleased. You are very important to this army, and with such a crucial development in our campaign steadily approaching, it would not be in anyone’s interest to have you burn out. Please, go enjoy your day off. If you still wish to make yourself useful, I suggest you do a spot of fishing for the kitchen staff. But please, do try to avoid the council room, at least for the day. Perhaps once you’ve completed your mental health day, our interim leader will deem you fit for service again. If you so much as set foot within this hall, I will have you physically removed by...by Raphael!”

Hilda almost pops a lung trying not to laugh at how pitiful the threat sounds coming from Flayn’s mouth, half expecting the professor to snicker and physically remove Flayn herself, but finds her actual reaction worse. She just stares, unflinching, unmoving, and silently willing Flayn to get out of her way. The worst of the professor’s threats were oftentimes doled out upon one’s psyche. 

Flayn, who stands a full two heads shorter and has about ten times less physical strength, stares back in a way even Baltie would ever dare to, squinting up at the professor and refusing to budge. 

“Alright fine,” the professor says dryly, and Flayn’s body seems to relax as she starts down the hall and approaches her hiding spot.

“Professor!” Hilda greets, moving from behind the corner. “I’m surprised I caught you on your day off. If I had a day to myself, I wouldn’t even leave my bed!” 

“You don’t even leave your bed on regular days,” she points out, and Hilda doesn’t even bother trying to deny it. “You’re late for council, tell whoever is in charge that I need to speak to them.”

“Will do!” Hilda salutes. “Oh, by the way, you’re needed down at the aviary. I don’t know what for, so don’t ask. I’m just passing along a message.”

The professor nods once, leaving without another word. 

When the sound of her footsteps disappear down the hall, Hilda skips down to where Flayn still stands, still guardian the door. “That was awesome!” She praises excitedly. “Definitely wasn’t how I thought that would go.” 

Flayn gives a small nod, and an even smaller whimper. 

Hilda’s face falls. “Oh no, please don’t-” But she does, and Flayn’s head falls onto her shoulder, the whimper turning into a soft sob. The waterworks start soon after, her tears staining Hilda’s shirt. “Yeah,” she sighs, rubbing the girl’s back gently. “That’s more like it.” 

**__________**

_“‘Become the Alliance army general,’”_ Byleth mutters, kicking a stray pebble in her path. _“‘Complete control of our troops,’_ he promised. I’m not even allowed in my own council room.” 

Well, technically they were on Alliance territory so it was Claude’s council room, but he’d always insisted ‘what’s mine is yours too.’ Byleth pushes the door to the aviary stables open, her nose scrunching as her sense of smell is overwhelmed by the scent of wyvern and pegasi manure. She gives Ingrid’s nearby falicorn a friendly pat on the nose, and says hello to Constance’s pegasus.

Looking around, she doesn’t see anyone here waiting for her, and wonders just who’s calling the shots today. If it isn’t Claude, and it isn’t her, then who the heck is it? And _who_ put them in charge?

She walks to the back of the stables where she knows Orion is resting, finding that he isn’t alone in the pen. 

Claude’s wyvern, Alya, rests beside him, and the two are _snuggling._

“Traitor,” Byleth mutters under her breath, unlatching the gate and stepping inside anyways. Orion nickers in greeting when she enters, and Alya chirps happily. “Has Marianne been taking good care of you guys?” She murmurs, scritching under Alya’s chin and kissing Orion’s nose. Alya nuzzles her head against Byleth’s chest, a deep rumble of satisfaction emitting from her throat.

“Maybe I’ll just hang out with you two,” Byleth murmurs, stroking Alya’s neck. “It’s my day off, after all.” Eventually her nose would get used to the smell, and at least the animals didn’t seem so hellbent on kicking her out. Maybe Marianne would come around sometime too, and she could ask her about this morning’s council. 

_A day off,_ she thinks to herself. _Haven’t had one of those before._

Orion suddenly snorts loudly, which Byleth has learned is a telltale sign of Claude’s presence. What was it with him and her pegasus?

“Hey, Teach.” 

_Teach, not By._ A part of her is saddened by it. “Hey,” she replies, looking over her shoulder at him. He stands a few feet away, leaning against a nearby support beam. “Were you the one who asked me here?” 

He gives a curt nod, while both wyvern and pegasus rise to their feet, shaking their wings out. “I need you to come to Derdriu with me again. I’m going to report our win at Gronder to the nobles and use it as leverage to gain more support before we even think about Fort Merceus. I’d...like for you to be there.”

“Okay,” she sighs, and Alya whines when Byleth stops stroking her. She hates to admit it, but if they intend to take a stronghold like Fort Merceus, they would need at least three times the amount of men they have now. Securing more soldiers meant calling a Roundtable and bugging the nobles again. “Can you pass me Orion’s saddle?”

Neither of them move, and there’s an awkward silence that sits heavy in the air. Byleth doesn’t know what to say and for once, Claude doesn’t seem to either. He just stares at her boots, clasping and unclasping his hands. She’s not used to seeing him look so nervous.

“We’ll need to stop by the Locket before we hit Derdriu. You should go pack a few things for an overnight stay. I can get the kids ready,” he finally says, turning red at the nickname they’d used to describe their mounts. 

It softens her a bit. Just a tad. “Okay, thank you,” she nods. Byleth pats Orion’s flank as Claude walks over to the shed. “Be nice to Claude please,” she whispers, getting a harsh grunt in return, pushing against her hand. “Well, maybe you can kick him a little.” That seems to calm him down a little.

Byleth tries to squeeze by Claude as she passes, but he catches her wrist. “Hey, I…”

She looks down at his hand and raises a brow, waiting. 

He drops her wrist, stepping back. “I know we’re not in a great place right now, so thank you for agreeing to come.” 

“I’m an adult, and a professional. I don’t let personal issues affect my job,” she shrugs. “And I’m not mad at you, Claude.” 

He seems taken aback by that. “You’re not?”

She wasn’t exactly mad at him, she was just mad at the situations he put her in. The situations he _continued_ to put her in. Maybe that was on her for not telling him, but what was she supposed to say? _Hey honey, what’s for dinner? Oh, by the way I can turn back time. Do you want some sorbet?_ How do you just tell someone that? “Don’t get me wrong, we’re not kissing and making up just yet. I just want us to do better, because we’re partners first, right?”

He finally meets her eyes. “Right, partners,” he nods, throwing a saddle onto Alya’s back. “So tell me how I can make it better. For both of us.”

Byleth sighs. “For starters, you can tell me who the heck you put in charge.”

**__________**

“These are so good,” Lysithea says through a mouthful of pastry, crumbs falling onto the table. “Since when did we do breakfast during council? Claude never put out a spread like this.”

“Well, Lysithea, as leader of the Alliance, I believe that a fresh variety of baked goods and mostly fresh fruits is the only right way to start any gathering of great minds,” Hilda informs her, taking a seat at the head of the table and throwing her hands up behind her head. 

“Hold on, girl,” Judith interrupts. “Did you just call yourself the leader of the Alliance?”

“That’s right,” she says brightly. “At least until Claude and the professor get back from Derdriu.” 

“So let me get this straight,” Lorenz says, palms flat against the table. “While Claude and the professor are gone, you’re in charge? He asked for you, Hilda Valentine Goneril, to be in charge?”

Hilda grins, kicking her feet up onto the table. “That’s right. And have some respect, you’re talking to the Duchess of the Leicester Alliance.” Lorenz looks absolutely horrified at the fact, but it just makes Hilda all the more amused. She gestures to the spread of fruit and breakfast pastries sitting in the centre of the table. “Take a sweet bun and calm down, Lorenz. I had the kitchen make them this morning.” Raphael happily helps himself to a second helping, but Lorenz doesn’t budge. “Anyone else have any questions?”

Ingrid takes a bite of an apple and raises her hand. “Yeah. What the heck is going on?”

“Claude and the professor are out of office today. He asked me to fill in, so I’m the interim leader for the time being. So come on,” she prods. “What’s new?”

Everyone stares at her or each other, all of them with stunned looks on their faces. She isn’t sure why they’re so shocked. Being leader meant she could boss everyone around for a few hours. She already did that on most days.

Yuri recovers first, standing and clearing his throat. “I have new intelligence-” 

“Ugh,” Hilda groans, dropped her head back. “Too boring for this early in the morning. Move on, we’ll come back to it. Does anyone know how Manuela and Seteth’s secret romance is going?”

Seteth chokes, and Manuela gives a wink when people turn to stare at them. Yuri looks like he’s about to argue when Lorenz stops him. “We can’t discuss intelligence without our general present.” He looks to Hilda. “If you’re the interim leader of the Alliance,” he says as if the words are physically hurting him. “Then who was appointed interim general in the professor’s stead?”

Hilda looks to her right, where the professor usually sits. “Dorothea is.” 

The mage perks up at the mention of her name, putting down her pastry. “Me?”

“Yeah, why not?” Hilda shrugs. “By the power vested in me by the Great Lords of the Leicester Alliance, I pronounce you Dorothea something Arnault, head general. May you serve with dignity and glory.” 

_“Her?”_

Dorothea cuts a glare at Lorenz. “What, I can’t be general because I’m a woman? Is that what you’re implying? Or is it because I’m a commoner?”

“What?” Lorenz sputters. “That’s not at all what I meant to imply, I have no qualms with anyone’s gender or status! I would never—The professor - who I have the utmost respect for - is also a woman and a commoner!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hilda interrupts with the wave of her hand. “We get it Lorenz, you respect women now and we’re proud of you for growing. But I think it’s time for us to move on to more important matters.” 

Getting up onto her feet, Hilda walks up to the chalkboard, writing ‘PLAN’ on top. “Claude wants us to start tossing around a few ideas. Let’s plan a siege.”

**__________**

They’re greeted at the Locket by none other than the great general Holst himself. “Duke Riegan, it’s good to see you again.” 

Claude accepts the handshake, clapping him on the shoulder. “Glad to see you’re doing alright yourself, Holst. Thanks for agreeing to a last minute visit.”

“Well, when the Duke of the Alliance writes and says that he and the Archbishop are coming to town, who am I to say no?” Claude notices his gaze drift behind him. “Speaking of, I don’t believe we’ve been properly acquainted, Archbishop.” He steps around Claude to greet the person behind him. “Lord Holst Goneril.” 

“It’s acting Archbishop,” she corrects with a smile that makes Claude’s knees weak, even if it’s not directed at him. “But I hear you’re going by Duke Goneril now,” Byleth says, and Claude is forced to watch her gaze up at Holst with what he can only describe as a starry look in her eye. She reaches out to shake his hand, which he takes all too quickly. “Either way, it’s an honour to finally meet you.” 

“Ever since you came to our aid five years ago, I’ve been dying to meet you. So please, the honour is all mine,” Holst kisses the back of her hand and flashes her a bright smile, making Byleth _giggle._ Byleth never giggles. 

Claude forces a smile, silently fighting the urge to punch Holst in his perfect teeth. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you from my sister, and Duke Riegan speaks highly of your military prowess.” His face is dangerously close to Byleth’s, and Claude almost wishes he hadn’t left Failnaught strapped to Alya. “The only thing more dangerous than a man who knows his way around a battle is a woman armed with the exact same knowledge.”

“That must be why Claude keeps me around,” Byleth laughs, the sound wrapping around his heart and squeezing tightly.

“A dangerous and beautiful mind like yours is hard to come across,” he grins, Byleth’s face flushing in a way Claude had only seen in bed. “Anyone would be a fool to let you go.”

“Okay,” he interrupts, stepping in front of Byleth and firmly planting himself between the two. The man was as charming as his sister, which was a dangerous Goneril trademark that was often overlooked. “Unfortunately this isn’t isn’t meant to be a social visit, I have a few things I wanted to discuss with you about the campaign.”

Claude stares straight into those cool, rosy eyes, watching as they flit between him and Byleth, lingering on him a second longer. “I see…” He nods slowly, an annoying half-smirk on his lips. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Above them, a wyvern screeches loudly, drawing their attention skyward. “Not what,” Claude says, pointing to the yellow flag strapped to the wyvern’s belly. “Who. That’s who we’re waiting for.” 

**__________**

As expected, the meeting had started with a friendly brawl. Claude had expected nothing less from the two stubborn, prideful individuals, who’d been on the opposite ends of the battlefield for years. 

...Only for them to be shown up by a tiny woman with a big sword. Repeatedly.

Claude bites back a smile as he watches Byleth duck under an axe swing, extending her leg to sweep Holst’s out from under him. Before he can get back up, the tip of her sword presses against the base of his neck. 

“I yield,” he laughs, accepting Byleth’s hand and letting her pull him up. “That’s the third time already. You’re the professor, tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

“You’re too used to fighting opponents the same size as you or larger,” Byleth says, rolling her shoulders a few times. “Adjust your swing and try again.”

“That woman of yours is really something,” Nader says beside him, both of them watching as she smacks Holst in the face with the butt of the training sword. “One heck of a fighter, that one. It’s not often someone beats me in hand to hand combat, and to do it twice? Shocked the shit outta me. You sure know how to pick ‘em, kiddo.” 

“She’s the one who picked me,” Claude corrects, unable to keep a smile off his face. “It shocked me too. She could’ve had a Faerghan prince or an Adrestian empress, but she saw something in _me._ You know, in one of our first conversations she called me out on my origins.”

“You weren’t exactly the Master Tactician back then.”

“Maybe not,” Claude shrugs. “Most of the people at the Academy weren’t the keenest when it came to knowledge of the lands outside of Fodlan. We even had this one Almyran kid, and he had no idea who I really was, origin or lineage.” He couldn’t exactly fault Cyril, he’d been young when he was taken. “Then this woman shows up, and she has no idea what the Church of Seiros is, but she has this raw, honest knowledge of the world and its people that was so uncompromised.” 

“And naturally you fell for such a worldly woman.”

“Of course. I don’t know anyone in that monastery who wasn’t in love with her at some point, for so many different reasons too.” Maybe it wasn’t romantic, but everyone held some sort of infatuation for the Academy’s favourite professor. Dimitri oftentimes told him how he so admired her skill. He’d caught Edelgard watching them afar, those assessing violet eyes of her edged with a degree of longing. They didn’t say so, but Claude knew they were jealous.

Jealous that she’d chosen him. She’d known exactly who he was all along, and still she’d chosen him. Not too many people did that nowadays. 

But something had changed between the two of them after Gronder. The air between them had suddenly become dense. “She’s mad at me,” Claude sighs, watching as Holst and her set their weapons aside. He says something that makes her laugh, and Claude rolls his eyes. “She says she’s not, but I know she is.”

“Ah, the first fight,” Nader chuckles, leaning against a nearby pillar. “What did you do?”

“Why are you so sure that it was something I did?” It was admittedly a fair assumption, but it stung nonetheless.

“You may be good at hiding it these days, but you’re just like your father. Everytime your mother is mad at him, you can see it on his face. You have the same look on yours right now.” 

“Fair enough,” Claude hums, although he hadn’t been aware of any such look on his face as of late.

“Look, kiddo,” Nader says, slapping him on the back. “It doesn’t matter what you did. She wouldn’t be mad at you if she didn’t care. And by the way, you and your father both do your best work at your lady’s side, so make sure you make it right.” 

**__________**

“Our objective is Enbarr,” Judith reminds the room, pointing to its location on the map in front of them. “But our greatest obstacle lies north of it here, in Bergliez territory. Fort Merceus. If we can’t get through, we might as well forget about Enbarr.”

“It’s a massive fortress that was constructed specifically to defend the capital,” Lysithea nods. “The so-called Impregnable Fortress, rivalled only by the Silver Maiden in the Kingdom.”

“The Imperial army we defeated at Gronder has withdrawn to Enbarr after the Emperor was injured,” Shamir explains, laying her reports on the table. “Since their priority is protecting their leader, Fort Merceus should be short on soldiers for the time being.” 

“So we should take it as soon as possible,” Hilda concludes. Although she’s opposed to moving out again so quickly, the faster they end this war, the sooner she can get back to doing nothing. “Before she recovers and bolsters the Fort’s defences.”

“Naturally I agree,” Lorenz nods. “But I’ve heard word from the lords of the Alliance that they can’t afford to keep supporting our campaign so soon. We won, but we still suffered a great deal of losses at Gronder.”

“In the academy, we learned that you need at least triple your enemy's forces to take a fortress with a frontal assault,” Leonie points out. “We still don’t have nearly enough soldiers for that.”

Sighing, Lorenz crosses ‘frontal assault’ off the chalkboard. “But if we wait any longer, we may never get the opportunity to seize a chance like this again.”

“We can’t scale the walls either. We’d end up dead when they hurl rocks down at us,” Judith adds grimly. 

“Yeah, no thanks!” Hilda groans, throwing her head back. “If only someone could open the gates for us from the inside.” She looks up when the room goes silent, everyone staring at her. “What?”

“We don’t have any spies in there, who would open the gate?” Shamir asks.

“Still, she’s onto something. We can sneak people in,” Yuri speaks up. “All we would need is a group of eleven or twelve to sneak in, stir up a confusion, then open the gates to let our allies in.”

Ignatz rightfully doesn’t look too confident. “It’s one of Fodlan’s strongest fortresses, how would we ever manage to sneak anyone inside?”

“Disguises?” Hilda suggests with a half-hearted shrug. “If we dress up like Imperial soldiers, maybe they’ll think we’re reinforcements and let us in.”

Judith’s brows lift with surprise. “Huh, that’s...not half bad. With a little refinement I think that would make a fine plan.” She gives Hilda a pat on the shoulder. “Well done, Leader Woman.”

**__________**

Later that night, something akin to pride swells in Claude’s chest as he watches Nader and Holst hit it off and banter like two old friends, laughing and drinking as they share stories from the battlefield. Byleth sits in a chair between the two men, adding her two cents when they call on her to mediate.

“The first time I saw this one across from me on the battlefield, he was nothing more than a pipsqueak in pink! That fancy axe of his was nearly twice his size!” 

“Very funny. The first time I saw him, he weighed about twenty pounds less and didn’t have a rat living on his face.” 

“Asshole!” Nader guffaws loudly, reaching across the table and shoving his shoulder. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, kid, you’re a beast on the battlefield, and it’s an honour to work with and cross blades with someone as skilled as you.” 

Holst seems pleased with the praise, tapping his mug of ale against Nader’s. “You aren’t so bad yourself, even if you are older than the Locket itself.”

With that small, simple gesture, Claude’s dreams feel a little less out of reach. 

Claude straightens in his seat when Byleth comes towards him, a rosy tint dusting her cheeks. “Hey, I think I’m going to head to bed now. Have a good night.” He’s about to let her leave, but his brain loses the battle to his heart, and he calls out to her.

“Teach, wait up. Would you be up for a little chat before bed?”

Her expression is irritatingly blank. “I don’t know, I’m a little tired.”

“We can talk about our plans for Merceus,” he suggests. “I have the rest of the council talking about it already, but it wouldn’t hurt for us to bring a few ideas of our own back.”

“I don’t really want to talk about that tonight…” she says tiredly, and Claude panics when she begins turning on her heel.

“We don’t have to talk about the war. We can talk about other things. Anything you want,” he tried desperately. 

She still doesn’t look too convinced. He isn’t sure if it’s because she’s actually tired or if she just doesn’t want to talk to him. “I don’t know…” 

Claude sighs, reaching behind the bar and grasping a bottle, pulling it up and setting it on the counter, along with two glasses. “Would this change your mind?” It’s a bottle of the wine she said she enjoyed back in Derdriu.

Byleth takes the bottle, ignoring the glasses. “Maybe a short chat wouldn’t hurt.”

“Great,” he smiles, pleased that his plan had worked. Nader and Holst begin another rowdy chorus of shouts, ending with one of them in a very illegal headlock. “Maybe not here though. I know the perfect spot.”

**__________**

Byleth follows Claude up a set of winding stairs, the sound of their footsteps bouncing off the stone walls around them. He holds a door open for her, and when Byleth steps through, she finds them out in the open air, atop a watch tower. The night breeze feels cool against her skin, and Byleth swears she’d never taken in a crisper breath of air. Claude offers her his hand, keeping her steady as she takes a seat atop the stone parapet, her legs dangling over the edge.

“Nice view,” Byleth hums, unscrewing the cap on her bottle of wine and taking a swig. It’s a beautiful view of the jungle scenery surrounding the mountains of the Locket, illuminated by torches and lanterns. 

“Second best view in all of Fódlan,” Claude says as she hands him the bottle. 

“Second?” She echoes. “What’s the first?” Claude only smiles as he takes a sip, and Byleth rolls her eyes when she realizes what he means. “Don’t be cute,” she mutters, turning away so he doesn’t see her blush. 

“Sorry, force of habit,” he laughs, and Byleth reaches over to reclaim her wine. “But I brought you up here for a reason. Do you see that cluster of light in the distance?” He asks, and Byleth follows his gaze beyond the treeline, out into the broad expanse of desert. Amidst the dunes she barely makes out a faint twinkle of light. “That’s my home city.” 

“Do you miss it?” Byleth asks curiously.

“Sometimes,” he shrugs. “It’s like I told you before; just because I’m a noble, I didn’t have it as easy as people think. A lot of my childhood was spent coming up with schemes and plotting against my enemies. Isn’t that crazy? I was a seven year old with enemies. Enemies that were trying to kill me” 

To anyone else, it might have sounded insane. But as a former mercenary who had grown up on the road, it wasn’t a far off idea. “It must have been hard.”

Claude stares out beyond the treeline. “If anything it made me into who I am today. My parents always said that I wouldn’t grow stronger if I didn’t learn to fight my own battles. So I grew up to be self-reliant and independent. In the world of politics, you can’t trust anyone but yourself.”

Byleth takes a deep breath at the mention of that five letter word. The word that had driven a wedge between them. _Trust._

“That’s why I...I keep things to myself sometimes,” he continues quietly. “I like being the one in control and I just depend on myself so much that I forget I have allies and friends.”

“It’s hard to trust someone,” Byleth agrees. “But you have me. You’ve always had me. Always. Why don’t you see that?”

“I do see that now,” he insists, taking a hold of her free hand. “You’ve never given me a reason not to trust you, and I’m...I’m sorry for not realizing it sooner. It wasn’t fair of me to plan things on the field without your knowledge. We’re partners and comrades in arms. From now on I’ll be completely transparent with you, I swear. You wanted me to be better, so I will.” 

Byleth can’t help but admire the determined look in his eyes, and be proud of the strength he possessed to cast aside the survival instincts that had been engraved into his childhood. She can’t help but look at him, and realize that he deserves the same transparency from her. 

“Claude?” She says, her voice tight. “I need to tell you something. I haven’t been completely transparent with you either.” He almost looks shocked at the revelation, but Byleth knows it’s because he’s always known her better than she’s known herself. “I can...I can turn back time.” Byleth had always imagined what she would say in this moment, but now that it was here, she had no idea what to say.

Claude just stares at her, then lets out a few laughs. “That’s funny, Teach! Are you trying to make me feel better by making something up? I think you might have a bit too much to drink.”

“I’m not joking.” She definitely isn’t drunk either. Well, maybe a little tipsy.

Claude, who’d always been one for physical facts and evidence, still isn’t satisfied. “Then show me how.” 

Byleth shakes her head. “There’s no way you would know. Only I remember.” She sets down the bottle of wine, flexing her fingers. “Okay, I want you to think of something that would be impossible for me to know.” She gives him a few seconds. “Do you have it?”

His eyes assess her, as if to check if she’s pulling some type of prank on him. “Are you going to ask me to tell you?” 

“Yes. You know too many of my secrets anyways. You trust me, right?” He nods immediately. “So tell me. Then I’ll go back in time and tell you.” 

He tells her, and Byleth goes back a few seconds prior, unable to keep the smile off her lips as she watches him, excited to see his reaction.

“Are you going to ask me to tell you?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t share your secrets…” She leans towards him, gesturing for him to come closer. _“Prince Khalid.”_

**__________**

“Welcome back,” Lorenz greets when Claude and Byleth return from their weekend-long trip. “I trust the nobles kept you busy with their mewling?”

“Naturally,” Claude scoffs, patting the flank of his wyvern. 

“How were things here?” Byleth asks as they all step aside, letting the stablehands tend to their mounts. “I trust that good progress was made while we were away?”

“Hilda did a much better job of leading us than I could have expected,” Lorenz admits. “We’ll have to give her more responsibilities.” 

Claude and Byleth exchange a confused look. “Hilda?” Claude echoes, the shock evident on his expression. “I asked for you or Yuri to take lead. Judith even, if neither of you could do it. Hilda was in charge of the Alliance for a weekend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, Hilda tries to use her last few minutes as Leader of the Alliance to pass a law that would make work illegal before noon and all day on Saturdays. (she also hides from Claude)
> 
> _____
> 
> Quick note, I'm sure you've noticed the longer period between updates! I try my best to update regularly, but I am still a third year university student (kinesiology, anyone else?) navigating the horrors of online school, and the last few weeks of the semester have been pure chaos. Finals start next week, and I have five of them to study for! Just wanted to let you all know that I'll try my best to update at least once a week! 
> 
> Good luck to my fellow students in the same boat, and I hope everyone stays safe as we head into the holidays during these truly cursed times. I hope these chapters continue to bring love, laughter, and entertainment to your life!


	24. time, mystical time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a lot of fluff bcs they (and you) deserve it
> 
> Bubbly by Colbie Caillat gives me such domestic Claudeleth vibes

Time. 

In a book he’d found in Garreg Mach’s library, Claude had once read that time was like a river. The goddess had claimed that like the flow of water, time only moves in one fixed direction. It never stops or slows, and whoever stands within that flow is inevitably pulled along with the current.

To Claude, that made sense. He had always known time to be a fairly straightforward concept. Compromised of seconds, minutes, and hours, time was a form of measurement, something that guided him through the day.

But then that night with Byleth had happened, and Claude had no idea what to think about time anymore. 

Shocked didn’t even begin to describe how he was feeling. He’d been stunned silent that night in the tower, excusing himself from the conversation and leaving before she could explain anything further. His brain was a confusing mess of thoughts as he tried to make sense of what he’d just found out. 

In his defence, he’d just found out that Byleth, who had not just been gifted with the power of the progenitor god, could also turn back _time._ She had the power to go back and change entire sequences of events. He knew magic existed, but something like this should be impossible.

He’d spent the better part of the weekend thinking about it, sifting through his memories and looking for the signs. Ever since the Academy, Byleth had an unrivalled knowledge of the battlefield. At first, he’d chalked it up to the 10+ years of battlefield experience she’d held over him. She’d even learned from the Blade Breaker himself. 

As time went on there was just no way to explain how she just knew certain things. Things that were extremely difficult to predict, even for a seasoned, tactical mind like his. She knew where enemy archers were hidden, when and where new battalions would enter from, and she always seemed to be at the side of whoever was in trouble. 

Thinking back, he should have known. A lot of her recent behaviour made sense. The deeply haunted look on her face after what he deemed a successful battle, the desperation of keeping everyone within her line of sight or within arms reach. Everything she’d said or done had taken on a new meaning, but one thing in particular stood out. 

_I fix everything._

Just how much had she fixed? 

A light knock draws Claude from his thoughts. “It’s open,” he calls from his spot near the window.

He tries to wipe the sleep from his eyes when the door creaks open and Byleth pokes her head into his study. “You sent for me?” She steps through the door when he waves her in, still clad in her fancy dress for the day. “Is everything alright?” 

Claude gestures to the chairs in front of his desk, offering her a seat. “How far back can you go?”

Byleth, who knew what he was talking about, lets out a soft sigh and quietly closes the door behind her, instead opting to stand across from him with her back against the bookcase. “I don’t know for sure. The farthest back I’ve gone is about five minutes, and I thought my chest was going to explode.”

“So...it hurts you?” He does wonder why it’s the chest, but he has a feeling she doesn’t know either.

“Sometimes, but it’s more of a physical strain. I get more tired the more I use it within a short period of time. On occasion I’ll get a headache.”

All the times she’d looked pale and exhausted, even after something as simple as routing bandits. “What’s the most times you’ve used it?”

“Seven, I think. But it was a long time ago.”

Claude hums in acknowledgement, staring out the window again. So even the revered goddess’ power has its limits. “What have you been using it for?”

She hesitates before answering, her eyes downcast. “I fix things on the battlefield.”

It’s a vague answer at best. There are a million things that happen in the heat of battle, and it’s hard to pinpoint a single thing that could go wrong. “I guess that explains the convenient sixth sense you have when we’re out there. You always seem to be in the right place at the right time.”

“It helps when I know what to expect,” she says slowly, finally meeting his eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, your tactics are solid and your planning is thorough. It's just that you don’t know what’s going to happen out there. At least if I know what you’re planning, I can be prepared to...jump in if anything happens. It’s why I keep everyone close by.”

Claude shakes his head. “But we haven’t lost anyone, and everything has gone so smoothly,” he points out. “Unless…” Realization sinks in with a dreadful pull on his gut, and when she looks away with a frown he knows exactly she’s been fixing all along.

_Do you know how many people died because of the stunt you pulled? How many of our friends?_

“No. No, that’s not possible I always make sure-” 

She takes a few steps forward, cupping his face in her hands. “You can’t know everything. No one can. There are a dozen things that are impossible for you to account for on the battlefield and that’s where I come in. It doesn’t happen all the time, but when it does it’s _not_ your fault.” 

He wishes he could believe that, but was he really no different from Edelgard or Dimitri? Sending his friends off to die? “But you said-”

Byleth squeezes her eyes shut, her whole face scrunching. “I know what I said and I shouldn’t have said those things. I was angry and tired and I took that out on you, I’m so sorry.”

It’s not her fault. He was the reason she was so angry and tired in the first place. She was working overtime to keep them alive. Turning back time wasn’t just some party trick. “How many times?” 

“Claude, don’t do this to yourself,” she begs. “I didn’t tell you to make you feel bad. Our friends knew what they were getting into when they _chose_ to follow you. It’s war and losses are inevitable.”

“They’d be inevitable if not for _you,”_ he corrects, prying her hands from his face. Yet another reason why he’s beyond grateful that she chose him all those years ago. “How many times have you seen it happen?” 

Her shoulders hunch slightly, a ghost of a sad smile appearing on her lips. That far off, haunted look in her eye returns as her arms encircle his waist. “I stopped keeping track a long time ago. Counting wouldn’t do anyone any good...No one should have to know how many times…” Byleth takes a deep, shuddering breath, gripping the hem of his shirt tightly. “I don’t like to count.”

Byleth wasn’t a highly emotional person, which was something Claude had always taken for granted. She followed his orders and worked around his plans, never once raising a complaint. There was a reason why everyone had come out of his more intricate schemes unscathed. She had the weight of the world and the war on her shoulders, and never let it show. Even when Claude had been unknowingly unloading another burden upon her. He stares over the top of her head, his heart catching in his throat. “You’ve had to watch them die, haven’t you?”

Her silence is answer enough, and makes him feel even worse. How many times had _he_ died? It’s surreal to even imagine that somewhere in a forgotten timeline, he was dead. Everything he’d built himself up to become, all his hopes and wildest dreams had just...ceased to exist. And because of what? A stray archer he’d missed on the field? A battalion he hadn’t accounted for? A foe he’d underestimated?

He was still here because of Byleth. The debt he owed her had already grown to rival Judith’s.

“All that matters is that they’re still here and so are you and I,” she finally says, looking up at him with those tired, tired eyes that make his heart clench. Her hand drifts up to the back of his head, pulling him down until his forehead meets hers, and he feels her soft breaths against his cheek. “And I’m going to make sure that it stays that way, because what good is any of it if I can’t save the people I care about?”

**__________**

When Byleth wakes the next morning, she hears the soft tap of raindrops against her window. The younger version of herself would have been overjoyed, rushing out to feel the cool drops of water splatter against her skin. The sound used to relax her, and after a day of splashing in puddles her and her father would curl up in front of a fire, where they were both lulled to sleep by the steady sound of water against whatever roof they were under. 

Byleth isn’t young anymore. The sound of rain makes her draw the covers over her head, lessening her motivation to go out and start her day. She doesn’t like the rain anymore, because all it brings is the painful memory of her father breathing his last. 

Claude knows this, and the second he sees that she’s awake, he’s back in bed wrapping her up in his embrace. The feeling of his arms around her is more comforting than any blanket that Byleth had ever laid under. “I’ll go get some of your work later,” he murmurs into her hair. She could feel his fingertips brushing softly against her spine, tracing scars both old and new. “I’ll get some food too.”

Byleth lets her body sag against him, her tense muscles becoming loose. Claude had always given her the respect of an equal, but cradled her like the most valuable object in his world. She nods against his chest, pressing her ear over his heart. Byleth lets the strong _lub-dub_ drown out the sound of the rain.

“The reason I told you about turning back time,” she whispers against his skin. “is because it doesn’t always work. Some things are-” 

“Unchangeable and out of our control. One could say meant to be,” he finishes, and Byleth is touched that he remembered that night as well as she did. “Jeralt - you tried to save him.”

The image of her father falling on Kronya’s blade _twice_ was something she would never forget. “And the goddess’ power wasn’t enough,” she sighs a little wistfully, tracing a light scar on his bicep. “That’s why I _need_ us to do better. I don’t want you risking your life out there. The Alliance can’t afford for you to fall. And...I can’t lose you too.”

His chest vibrates as he hums. “From now on I’ll be more mindful. It’ll take a lot to get rid of me. A concept many people are truly very pained by.” 

It’s enough to ease Byleth’s nerves until the next battle, so she decides to take advantage of their rare moment of respite together, appreciating the warmth of his body pressed flush against hers. “We never talked about it,” she murmurs.

“About what?” 

“The fact that you’re a _prince,_ and your name isn’t Claude.”

“Ah, that,” he laughs a little too lightheartedly for someone who’d been hiding two major parts of his identity. “Fifth in line, and it’s a popular choice for fake names.” Byleth doesn’t have to look up to know he’s winking.

“Why the secrecy?” She asks as he fiddles with a strand of her hair. She’d known Claude kept secrets, but this was something she never could have imagined. She wondered what her father would have said if he’d found out. Her first boyfriend was foreign _royalty._

“My mother suggested it. She knew the people of Fodlan wouldn’t take too well to such a foreign sounding name. As for my royal lineage, my mother also doesn’t want to be found. If they knew that I was an Almyran prince, it would be all too easy for them to figure out where she was. One could say I did it for her, but it’s been nothing but beneficial to me.” 

Just like her son, Tiana von Riegan likes to think ahead. “Your mother sounds like a smart woman,” Byleth grins. “I hope I can meet her one day.”

“Oh, the only thing she talks about in her letters is when she’ll meet the woman that I’ve fallen in love with.”

Byleth freezes, unsure if Claude is even aware of what he’d just said. “The woman that you-” 

A fist pounds against the door of the room. _“Claude? Are you in there? I’m coming in!”_ The doorknob rattles, and they scramble to untangle their limbs, Byleth barely making it under the covers when she hears the hinges groan, followed by wet footsteps. 

“Hilda, what are you doing here?” Claude questions sharply. Byleth does her best to flatten herself against the bed, cursing the chest she’d been endowed with. 

“I was wondering if you knew where the Professor was? Seteth was looking for her this morning, and she wasn’t in her room.” 

Claude shifts in bed, most likely to draw Hilda’s gaze towards him. “No, I can’t say that I have. Did you try the greenhouse?” 

“Not yet, but I think I might know what’s up,” she hears Hilda say in that voice that indicates that the girl is up to something. “I’ve been watching the professor lately, and do you know what I found out?”

“That privacy is dead?” Claude retorts dryly. 

“No, her hair is luscious, her skin is glowing, and her shoulders have been a little less tense than usual. She’s sleeping with someone.”

Byleth is touched that even Hilda has noticed how soft her hair has been lately, but Claude starts choking. “What?” He sputters between breaths. “Do you...do you know who?”

“No, do _you?”_ She asks, although her way of asking sounds more like an accusation.

“I have no idea,” he lies. “When you find out, you should let me know,” he dismisses, his weight leaving his side of the bed. “Anyways, I’ve gotta change but I’ll catch up with you, okay? Okay, have a good day, Milady Goneril.” 

Hilda is halfway through a protest when Claude guides her out and shuts the door. When she hears Hilda retreat down the hall, Byleth sits up and flips the covers down. “Do you think she saw me?” 

“No,” Claude sighs with great relief. “She was too busy looking for other signs that you’d been here.” 

“Well, we’ve bought ourself another day in our little bubble,” Byleth shrugs. They still weren’t quite ready to share their relationship with the world, but it seemed that the world (Hilda) had other plans. “Come back to bed so we can make the most of it... _Khalid.”_

The look on Claude’s face is priceless, a mix of pure arousal and adoration as he rejoins her in bed, leaning down to brush his lips against her neck. “Careful there, By. Keep saying things like that and you might not leave this bed at all today.”

Byleth definitely does not have a problem with that. 

“When we’re together like this, which name would you have me call you by?” She asks, a little lightheaded and breathless as his lips continue to blaze their trail.

“It’s up to you,” he says, his teeth grazing her collarbone. “Khalid is...he’s very much still the little boy who did more running than fighting. The boy who had to leave home to feel like he belonged. But Claude...You made him into who he is.” He takes her hand, placing her palm against his beating heart. “Feel that? That’s all you, By. Khalid, Claude, you can call me whatever you want, because you’re the reason I can keep chasing both their dreams.” 

Byleth’s entire being softens, melting into a pool at the foot of the bed as she pulls him in for a deep kiss. How could she not, after hearing him say something like _that._

Maybe rainy days weren’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later, Seteth heaves a heavy sigh when he sees Byleth and Claude make bedroom eyes at each other during council. When he realizes what's going on and where Byleth was this morning, he almost has a stroke. 
> 
> _____
> 
> ALSO i've been picking away at this little fic of mine...how does everyone feel about an arranged marriage AU? i'd love to hear some thoughts


	25. the fell star and crescent moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! I hope that despite this season's awful setbacks, you still have a wonderful holiday. I wish you love, peace, happiness, and good health! You deserve it!

_Khalid liked stargazing with his mother. It was one of the rare moments of the day when he had her all to himself. His mother was a queen, a busy one. She worked herself to the bone, accomplishing far more than the previous queens he’d read about in the history books._

_A_ _nd though she returned with a gentle smile to tuck him in at night, he could see the slight sag in her shoulders, and the dark circles lining dull eyes that didn’t smile at all. Regardless of the work she’d done, her work wasn’t fully appreciated, and it bothered her. All because she was of a different land. He’d heard the name people called both he and her._

_Cowards._

_Khalid didn’t think so. His maman was strong - stronger than Nader, even. Someday he would be too._

_But that wasn’t what he was planning on asking tonight. No, he had a different question in mind. “Maman.”_

_His mother’s lips curl slightly as she turns her head to look at him. The grass they’re laying atop makes her nose crinkle. “Yes, little love?”_

_Khalid’s entire face wrinkles in a way his nanny found cute. “Why do you call me that? And why do you call Baba your star?”_

_A soft chuckle escaped her lips. “Because you’re my little love, and I love you so much,” she coos, playfully pinching his cheek. “Why do you ask?”_

_“Nader says you calling me ‘love’ makes me sound soft,” he says, huffing at the memory. He’d said it in front of his brothers too, and they’d laughed at him. “And I’m not little,” he whines, even though compared to said brothers, he certainly was._

_“I’ll kick Nader’s ass again,” she mutters, though he’s not sure if he’s meant to hear it. “Though...he’s not entirely wrong. Love makes us soft, but it also makes us strong. I hope you come to understand that someday. And you, my love, will grow to be big and strong someday. Perhaps you could even grow to lead...no,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Godfrey will get his act together eventually.”_

_Khalid doesn’t know who Godfrey is, but his mother seems adamant on dropping the subject. Besides, he’s more intrigued by her claim that something soft could be strong. Weapons were strong, and those were definitely not soft. Especially those forged with the strongest ores._

_But he doesn’t question her, because his maman is almost always right. (he also always liked that he was her only love, though he’d never admit it)_

_She reaches over and scoops him up into her lap, her fingertips carding through his messy locks of hair. “As for your Baba…well, he’s always called me his moon.”_

_Moon? What a funny thing to call someone. “Why?”_

_She shifts behind him, holding her hand out in front of the two of them, her palm upturned. “Because of this.” There’s a flash of green light, and an image materializes out of thin air, flickering brightly over her palm._

_Magic, his brain registers in awe. It was more popular in his maman’s homeland than his own, and it stunned him. “It’s a moon,” he observes, peering closer at the sparkling green particles of light. “A crescent moon.”_

_“It’s part of me,” she explains as he passes a hand through it. He giggles when it tickles his skin. Her lips brush his ear. “I think it’s part of you too.”_

_Again, Khalid doesn’t entirely understand, so he just nods and pretends to. He’ll figure it out someday. “So Baba is the star and you’re the moon?”_

_“That’s right.” The crescent moon in her palm disappears as she points upwards, up at the night sky they both adored. “The moon rules the night sky, correct?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Look up, little love.”_

_Khalid leans back into his maman’s chest, gazing up at the moon and stars that dot the inky blackness like sugar spilt over black marble. He can easily map out the constellations, patterns of stars who, to them, this was but a small moment in the millennia of their existence._

_“It’s like the most beautiful art, alive with energy and movement,” she describes, her voice reflecting the awe and bewilderment he feels. “But it’s only beautiful when the stars break through the darkness. Otherwise the picture is incomplete, and the moon would be rather lonely. The moon may rule the night sky, but the stars...the stars are what we use to guide us.”_

_Constellations were used for navigational purposes, yes, Khalid knew that. “Is Baba your guiding star then?”_

_Her arms wrap around him, her lips planting a kiss atop his head. He watches as she twists the pretty ring on her finger. “I wouldn’t be here with you, if not for him.”_

_Yawning, he nuzzles into her chest, focusing on the familiar beat of her heart. “Were you lonely like the moon? Before you met Baba?”_

_She returns to stroking his hair, her fingernails gently scraping his scalp. “I suppose I was,” she hums after a moment of contemplation. “I hope you find your star one day,” she whispers as he drifts into a peaceful slumber._

**__________**

Where the great stronghold Fort Merceus once stood now laid nothing but a crater and some rubble. A month’s worth of planning had essentially gone down the drain, along with Claude’s lone foothold into Empire territory. 

He’s still waving the smoke of his loss out of his face when Nader approaches. “Hey, kiddo! What was with that...javelin of...light?” 

He sounds just about as confused as Claude feels, because he’s still processing it all himself. The entire fort had been destroyed in less then two minutes, by a weapon that had arrived out of nowhere and caused the damage of hundreds of thousands of men. “Javelin of light. That describes it pretty well,” he mutters bitterly, looking at the fort’s still-smouldering remains. “The fortress was supposedly impregnable, but look at it now.” 

Nader grimaces as Claude gestures out at the smoking mess before them. It’s odd to see him look so sombre. “Do you think this was the Empire?”

Claude shakes his head. “It’s hard to imagine that the Empire would do something like this. But if not them, then who? And for what purpose? If they wanted to kill us, then why wait until now to use it?” He strongly doubted that it was the Empire, because what leader in their right mind would destroy a fort like Merceus, if not to kill their enemies? It couldn’t have been the Kingdom either, because they were in no shape to house weapons like this or launch an attack of this magnitude...right?

“Boy!” Judith butts in, flicking blood off the blade of her rapier. Claude looks her over, and she looks generally unscathed. “We almost died just now...and without an answer to any of that.” She turns her attention to Nader, a rare look of shock flashing across her face. “What is he doing here? Care to explain?” She questions, the tip of said blade under Nader’s chin. “I have an excellent bullshit detector, and I’ve had a feeling you two were keeping something from me.”

The look on Nader shoots him says ‘you’re on your own.’ “I’ll uh, go ahead and see my subordinates off to Almyra, kiddo.” 

“Wait, Nader! Are you really just going to leave me here and run away?”

He doesn’t answer, instead using a finger to push the tip of Judith’s sword down. “I hope to see you again, Lady Judith. Claude, pass my thanks onto that professor of yours. I’ll be praying for your safety!” The man turns away without another word, leaving both Claude and Judith dumbstruck as he goes. 

But speaking of Byleth, where was she? He’d watched her and Yuri engage the Death Knight near the north entrance and hadn’t seen her since. Maybe she was helping Marianne in the medical tents, or scouring the wreckage for survivors. 

Or _she_ could be trapped under it. Byleth didn’t step off the field until she was the last woman standing, she was stubborn like that. “Judith, have you seen Byleth?” 

Claude turns to see her eying him, a rare look of confusion on her face. “Nader?” She echoes instead, and Claude realizes his previous slip. Well, there was no use in hiding that anymore. “Are you saying that _Nardel_ is actually Nader the Unstoppable? I knew he was no ordinary person, but to think he was actually a great hero of Almyra...”

“It’s actually ‘Nader the Undefeated.’ Almyran’s do love their grand titles,” Byleth’s voice answers behind him. For a second he’s relieved to know that she isn’t buried under rubble or intentionally avoiding him again, but then he notices how pale her face is, and his gaze drifts to the blood seeping through her shirt and dirtying the yellow of her cloak. “What?” Byleth asks when she notices him staring. “My father used to tell me stories about his battles.”

For now, Claude chooses to ignore the fact that she’d probably known who Nader was the entire time. “You’re bleeding,” he says instead, striding towards her and reaching for the belt wound around her waist. Once it’s undone, he pulls her cloak aside to reveal a deep, jagged stab wound just above her hip. Claude immediately presses his hand over it. “You didn’t feel this at all?” 

Judith carefully moves his hands to inspect it, visibly wincing. “In battle your body over-pumps adrenaline, which usually keeps a soldier conscious and relatively pain free, even when injured. When your body gets a chance to relax though…”

“Oh, _shit,”_ Byleth hisses quietly when Claude presses his hand down again. “I knew he got me,” she groans, her hand gripping his shoulder as she starts to sway on her feet. “He swung that stupid scythe and I was a second too late and— _oh fuck,”_ she sputters, now propping her entire weight against him and cursing up a storm. “Next time I see that angsty knight I’m going to take that stupid head off his stupid shoulders.”

The face of a goddess and the mouth of a mercenary. Claude bites back a smile as she continues to curse the Death Knight. Just his kind of woman.

Claude looks back at Judith, who looks more impressed than she does concerned. “Hey, can you get a count on the troops and tell everyone we’re moving back to the Bridge? I’m gonna take Teach here over to Marianne.”

“You’ve got it, Leader Man. And nice work out there, Professor. Get some rest.” As Judith walks off to pass along the message, Byleth pushes lamely on Claude’s hand.

“No, I’m fine. Look,” she tries to protest, her hand glowing with faith magic. As soon as it touches the wound her breath catches, and her hand locks around his shoulder with alarming force. 

“By, you’ve literally been stabbed, you need to take a break.” 

“Fort Merceus just blew up, I need to help.” Her expression says otherwise, contorted in pain and laced with mild annoyance.

“Just let me help you, dear,” he murmurs, looping her arm around his shoulders. With one arm supporting her back, Claude reaches down and hooks an arm under her knees to hoist her up against him. 

“My legs still work, Claude,” she grumbles, ever the prideful one. “You don’t need to carry me.”

Sure, he doesn’t have to, and sure his arms are tired from lifting his bow and slinging arrows all morning, but he wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to help her out for a change. “I know you don’t, but let me have my moment, yeah? You’re always the one saving me. Besides, I told you I’d sweep you off your feet someday.”

**__________**

It isn’t long after they’ve settled back into the Great Bridge of Myrddin that Claude finds himself backed into a corner. He’s stuck, surrounded by none other than his Golden Deer. 

They stare at him as if he’s suddenly sprouted wings, all of them wearing the same look of mild suspicion. 

“Claude,” Lorenz speaks up. “It’s time for you to explain. Why are you so close with an Almyran general?” 

He knew Lorenz would be the first to question him, he’d just overestimated how long he’d have to craft a pausible explanation. “Well, he did do quite a bit for me when I was younger.”

Lorenz makes a displeased face. “When you were younger...So before you joined House Reigan. How and where did you meet him? There aren’t many opportunities to meet a general from Almyra in Fodlan.”

Claude smirks, an action he knows Lorenz hates. “If that’s what you believe, it’s only because that’s what you’ve been led to believe. Look at Cyril,” he says, gesturing to the only other Almyran he’d seen at Garreg Mach. “He’s our ally, and he was born in Almyra.”

“Hey now, don’t drag me into this…” he frowns, looking down at his feet.

“Regardless, there’s a big wide world outside of Fódlan,” Claude continues, looking around at his classmates. “And it’s overflowing with different places and cultures. You think interacting with outsiders is odd, but isn’t avoiding contact with the outside world far more unnatural?”

“Don’t change the subject, Claude. To the people of the Alliance, the Almyran’s are—”

Lorenz is stubborn. Like most people from Fódlan, he had a very narrow-minded view of the world. “It’s true that there’s a history of hostility,” he interrupts, “but why should that mean we’re doomed to be on opposing sides forever? After meeting Nader the Undefeated, General Holst was more than willing to let bygones be bygones and let the Almyran army cross the Throat.”

The looks on both Hilda and Lorenz’s faces are priceless, and Claude half wishes he could ask Ignatz to memorialize the way the latter’s mouth hangs open on a canvas. “Oh,” Hilda realizes, her face lighting up. “So that’s why you kept bothering me about him. Aren’t they supposed to be enemies though? They’ve fought each other several times before.”

“I know,” Claude acknowledges. “Believe me, they still had a few things to prove when I set the meeting up, but after throwing each other around a little on the training grounds, they really hit it off. Later that evening, they were drinking to their newfound brotherhood.” It was an image he truly did wish could be memorialized somewhere. 

“It makes sense,” Judith hums thoughtfully. “If you take the greatest heroes away from the battlefield, of course they’ll get along.”

“Fighting one minute and drinking the next...Men are so weird!” Hilda titters.

“Ultimately, someone's bloodline has nothing to do with the friendships they forge. Relations between the Alliance and Almyra is a matter we'll tackle in the future. Today was a giant step forward. If only for a moment, we brought our two countries together and took Fort Merceus.” It might have been destroyed, but Claude still thought a win was a win, nonetheless. 

“Still, I want to take this opportunity to make one thing clear to all of you. After we defeat the Empire, I intend to tear down the walls that separate Fódlan from the outside world. I want to let people and goods come and go freely, and in doing so, eradicate prejudices about the outside world.” 

Crickets could be heard outside. That’s how quiet the hall was. 

With their momentum picking up and setting Enbarr in their sights, he supposed it was time for them to know just what they were fighting for, and what an Alliance victory would result in. Claude had goals and wild dreams, things that wouldn’t be achievable without help. 

“Would it even be possible to achieve such a thing? It directly contradicts the Seiros tenets.” Lorenz’s tone isn’t dismissive, and Claude knows he’s speaking realistically. Change wouldn’t be so easily welcomed into a world steeped in tradition.

That was where the key to his success came in. His guiding star.

“It might. But when this war is over, whether we rescue Lady or not, Teach is going to become the leader of the Church. The mantle’s been handed down, and her and I...we’re on the same page. We share a common goal, so if anyone is going to argue with me on the basis of religion, they can take it up with the woman who wields the Sword of the Creator.” Claude had no doubt that Byleth would remain by his side, fighting to help him achieve the new dawn he longed to see.

**__________**

“Hey, Marianne, I came to talk to Teach,” he says, hiding the small bundle of valerian behind his back and running a hand through his hair. He’d never hear the end of it if his hair was a mess.

“Of course. I do hope it’s not of military importance though…I'm not sure she'll be up to it.”

“Is she not okay?” He asks, his smile faltering. Marianne would have come to him earlier if her situation were dire, had he missed something?

“Oh, no, she’s fine. I didn’t find any sources of internal bleeding, so whatever she was stabbed with missed her major organs,” she clarifies, and Claude releases the breath he’d been holding. “I stitched her up and applied an antiseptic balm, but she was in quite a bit of pain during the march back, so I gave her something to help and...” To finish her explanation, she opens the door to Byleth’s quarters. 

“Marianne, you have _such_ pretty hair.”

“Again, thank you, Professor,” she giggles, looking back at Claude. “She’s a little incapacitated at the moment. She’s not quite used to having medicinal drugs in her system.”

Byleth lays in bed, an uncharacteristically lax smile on her face as she ignores him and stretches languidly. “I used to have blue hair,” she sighs wistfully. “But then Sothis called me a boulder and turned me into a mint to save my life.”

That certainly isn’t the version he heard. Marianne laughs at that, and oh, this was much better than Claude could have imagined. A loose-tongued Byleth with next to zero inhibitions? He might finally get a peek into that tightly sealed brain of hers. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Claude!” She exclaims, her head lolling to the side as she looks around Marianne, who steps out to give them privacy. “You always said you liked my blue hair better,” she slurs as he pulls a stool up to her bedside. He sets the flowers on her bedside table and takes one of her hands in his. “Now I look like something you suck on when you have bad breath.”

Ah, this _was_ fun. “Well, I think you look beautiful with either hair colour, and I’d gladly suck on you any day,” he winks, enjoying the way her face still flushes.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend,” she sighs. “It’s like when you explain a legend about something an old dead guy did to another old dead guy and I only pretend I’m interested just to hear you talk. Your storytelling voice is really sexy.”

Okay, ouch. A little bittersweet, and not exactly the type of secret he needed to know. Some things really were better left unsaid.

“You brought me flowers,” she coos, picking up the bundle and burying her nose in it. “These were my mother’s favourite. Aelfric’s ghost told me.”

Claude had only picked them up because they were the only things growing outside. But _what was this about Aelfric’s ghost?_

Before he can ask, she picks up his hand and pulls his glove off, tossing it somewhere over her shoulder and pressing his palm to her cheek. “I’ve always liked your hands. So strong and calloused and warm…always taking care of me. And you’re so handsome and you’re my best friend and...” her misty eyed gaze drifts behind him. “My favourite student!” She starts struggling to get up, her movements restricted by the bandage wrapped around her waist.

“I thought you didn’t have favourites,” Claude chuckles as she drops his hand, helping her sit up and propping a few pillows up behind her. “But I always knew I was secretly your—”

“Yuri,” she interrupts, pointing over his shoulder. Sure enough, the leader of the Ashen Wolves stands in the doorway, an amused smirk on his lips. “Hi.”

“You really are, aren’t you, friend?” He snorts, taking a step into the room. “I came to see how our fearless leader was doing and I must say, I’ve never seen you look so relaxed.”

“I feel like I’m floating on a cloud,” Byleth admits, looking between him and Yuri. “Especially now that my two favourite boys are here to keep me company.”

Pointedly choosing to ignore that, Claude turns to send their visitor a tight smile. “Yuri,” he greets flatly. “No gang members to chase on this fine eve?”

He arches a brow. “No, other than the fort that just blew up, it’s been a pretty slow day. And you, no walls to tear down in the great name of equality?”

“Not today. I need Teach in top form for that.”

“Shame. Now what’s this about me being your favourite student?”

Claude turns back to look at her, also needing an answer. After everything they’d been through… “Mmhm,” Byleth hums, closing her eyes and sighing contentedly. “He didn’t pull pranks on his classmates, never complained about stable duty, and didn’t turn in assignments contaminated with poisonous spores.”

The first two things he would own up to. In his defence, everyone laughed when Lorenz showed up with pink hair. “Hey, that was an accident, and I made sure you got the antidote!” 

“Oh, so did you ‘accidentally’ go through my room when I was in the infirmary too?”

But _shit,_ he had done that, hadn’t he? Apparently Byleth knew more than she let on. “Can you blame a guy for wanting to know his new professor a little better?”

“Only losers get caught,” Yuri taunts, an annoying smirk on his lips. “And here I thought you were the Master Tactician.”

Byleth opens her eyes to level a flat gaze at her favourite student. “Just because you asked me out _before_ breaking into my room doesn’t make you any better. You may be my favourite student, but that doesn’t mean I turned a blind eye.”

Claude laughs when Yuri chokes on his spit, coughing like he’s trying to hack up a lung. Obviously he didn’t think he’d been caught either. “Ha! Looks like we’re both losers!”

Wait a minute.

“What’s this about him asking you out?”

Byleth blinks innocently at him with those beautiful doe-eyes that never fail to lure him into a distracted state. “We went out, killed a few gang members, then had dinner,” she says, as if killing people during a date was the most typical thing in the world.

“It was hardly a date,” Yuri adds. “More of a...wildly uncomfortable and mildly sexual experience. I must admit, there’s nothing more tantalizing than the way your girlfriend handles a weapon.”

Of course, Claude knows better than anyone that Byleth’s movement with a sword was mesmerizing. He could easily recall the way that her taut cords of muscle flexed with each sharp and precise swing. The eerie but ethereal glow the Sword of the Creator cast over her entire being was like something straight out of a legend. She moved across the battlefield like wildfire; quick, deadly, and undeniably _hot._ Until that night in Remire, Claude had never known he could feel scared and aroused at the same time. Byleth was--

Claude’s wonderful daydream grinds to a halt, rewinding to a few seconds prior for review. Did he just say...Well, Yuri wasn’t wrong, but he and Byleth hadn’t exactly been holding hands in public. When he turns around to ask, the doorway is empty and Yuri is nowhere to be seen.

That elusive prick. Claude makes note to pay the underground lord a visit in his own domain.

“That was weird,” he sighs, though not without a slight shudder. He walks over to the desk and grabs Marianne’s notepad, flipping to a blank sheet. “Anyways, I’m going to make a list as to why I should be your favourite student, and we’re going to go over it point by point until you admit that I am - and have always been - your favourite student. Huh? By?” He asks when she doesn’t immediately follow up with a witty retort.

She’s snoring softly, one arm sprawled out over her forehead, and the other splayed across the pillow. The herbs must have finally run their course. 

“You really like dragging me over the coals, don’t you?” He chuckles. Taking great care not to rouse her, Claude gently rearranging her limbs and pulling the blanket up to her chin. “But that’s alright, I love you regardless.”

Just like last time, the words leave his mouth without permission from his brain. Unlike last time, his only regret is that she isn’t awake to hear them.

**_________**

Claude takes the opportunity to slip out and stretch his legs, walking down to the dining hall to grab them both some dinner.

On his way down he runs into Judith, who hands him a letter with a familiar Almyran seal. “You know who it’s from,” is all she says. 

He does know. 

But he tucks it into his coat and detours to his study, making sure he’s absolutely alone before opening it. Carefully peeling aside the wax seal, he frowns when he doesn’t immediately see a letter. In fact, a quick peek confirms that there are only two things inside.

He tips the envelope over, and both fall into his palm. What catches his eye immediately is a simple silver band inlaid with emeralds. It doesn’t take him long to realize that it’s his mother’s wedding ring, gifted to her by his father. An heirloom worn by generations of Almyran queens.

Warmth is already blooming across his chest when he realizes whose finger this is meant for. As he reads the attached note, Khalid thinks of his mother twisting the ring on her own finger, its gem shimmering under the twinkling stars of the night sky.

_For the star to your crescent moon, the one who completes your night sky._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiana, smacking Nader upon his return: I knew Judith would be the better babysitter.


	26. fear the deer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An actual chapter count? I have the rest of it mapped out now, and trust me when I say that you folks are about to be taken on an absolute rollercoaster ride.

“Hey, Teach.”

Byleth scraps another sheet of paper, looking up from her desk as Claude saunters into her father’s study. He has that lopsided smile on his face and his hands held behind his back. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Her suspicion only makes his grin widen. “I can’t smile just because I feel like it?”

“Not like that, no.” In Byleth’s experience, that sheepish smile often meant that he had done something, or was about to, and was almost always followed by a procession of agitated classmates led by Lorenz or Seteth.

But she doesn’t see an amused looking Hilda, a red faced Lysithea, or an annoyed looking Lorenz nearby. He either hasn’t been caught yet, or he really is smiling just because he feels like it.

Byleth crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes at him. “What did you do now?”

Hand over his heart, he dramatically staggers back a step as if she’d dealt him a blow. “Ouch! Your apprehension stings, Teach. Here I thought we’d developed a deep and meaningful relationship built on love and trust.”

Just yesterday he’d swapped out Lorenz’s sugar with salt, but he didn’t seem to remember that. “Doesn’t mean I’m not still wary of your antics. You don’t exactly have the greatest track record.”

“Hey, I was an excellent student back in the day!”

Byleth arches a brow. “And an excellent student sleeps with his professor?”

 _“Former_ professor,” he corrects with a chuckle. “Seventeen year old Claude would have been absolutely ecstatic to know he’d eventually see the things he wanted to see. I’m talking nakedness, by the way,” he winks, which Byleth _knows_ he adds just to see her blush. “Not just stuff like this--” He draws his hand from behind his back to reveal his latest surprise. 

Byleth gasps, immediately reaching out to take the worn leather journal from his hand. She stares down at it disbelievingly. “This is-- I thought it was stolen after I--” 

“I took it,” Claude explains. “We were retreating and on our way to Abyss I passed your room so…”

Opening to a random page, Byleth’s finger absently traces the inscriptions made by her late father. She’d long resolved to never see it again, the last true posession of the man who’d raised her. “How did you know where it was?” She thought she’d been smart the day she’d tripped over that loose floorboard. The hollow space was convenient, the perfect place to hide things.

“Why do you think the floorboard was loose in the first place? When I snuck into your room, I didn’t just snoop. You know me, I think ahead.”

Ah. That made more sense. 

“Why wait so long to return it?” when he hesitates, she quickly adds, “I’m not upset...just curious as to what you’ve done with it.” Knowing Claude, he couldn’t have something like this in his possession for five whole years and not take another peek at its contents. It wasn’t as if the Eisner’s were in any state to catch him.

“I had it under lock and key in Derdriu. With our movements between Garreg Mach and the Bridge happening more often than not, I didn’t want to risk anyone getting their hands on something so important.”

“Did you read anything interesting?” She’d never gotten the chance to read it all herself, what, with her falling off a cliff and all. Honestly, she isn’t even sure that she would be able to. It was still too raw.

Claude shakes his head. “Nothing specific. Although...I do have one question. How old did you say that Jeralt was? There are quite a few entries here from well beyond the time he met Sitri. Even a few from when served the Kingdom. There weren’t any exact dates, but according to what I once heard from Dimitri...that was a really long time ago.”

It’s almost silly, how little Byleth knows of the man she called her father. She’d known he was born in Faerghus, but not that he’d been a soldier. Are parents always so secretive? “I’m not sure exactly,” she tells him honestly. “But I once spoke to Alois and he said that my father told him he’d stopped keeping track after…” Byleth hesitates, unsure if a drunk man’s ramblings to his friend were worth mentioning.

“What?” Claude presses. “Fifty? Sixty? Come on, By. Put me out of my misery here.”

“Around a hundred,” Byleth winces. But she’d seen her father, and he didn’t look anywhere near that age. 

Byleth’s hands tighten around the journal, denting the supple leather. She’d seen elders before. With their wrinkles and wiry hair and hunched over forms. And those were elders in their seventies or eighties. Not their hundreds. Even in the deepest recesses of her mind, Byleth had never known a time where her father looked any different than he did on the day he died. Sure, he complained of normal dad things like back pains and arthritis, but never about grey hair or wrinkles. 

“A hundred?” Claude repeats, sounding about as dumbfounded as Byleth currently feels. “By, that’s insane. Jeralt can’t have been…” A line forms between his brows as he concentrates, stepping further into the study and shutting the door behind him. “Well...the records from his previous time with the Knights officially date back to about two decades before your birth, which checks out. But there was a log I found down in Abyss once - I didn’t give it much thought back then, but there was about four decades worth of reports from the captain before your father. They were under the name ‘Reus.’ Now, if my memory serves correct--” 

“That was my father’s middle name,” Byleth realizes. 

Nodding slowly, Claude shuts his eyes, deep in thought. “Lady Rhea told you that he was a soldier of the Kingdom when they met, right? He couldn’t even grow a full beard at that point?” 

That’s what she’d been told. “Yes.”

“Okay, so soldiers are typically in their early twenties, right? Let’s say he’s twenty one, fresh out of training when he’s to escort Lady Rhea. She hired him after he saved her life, and he hypothetically served for forty years under a fake name. ‘Reus’ retires around sixty. Then hypothetically tack on another two decades under the name Jeralt. When he’s eighty, he somehow seduces a nun and they have a child. Then she dies and he leaves the monastery with you for twenty years. He comes back and he’s…” Both she and Claude are silent as the sum of her father’s hypothetical age sinks in. 

A hundred. 

But her father, strong, tall, and proud, did not look to be one hundred years old. An entire century. 

“That’s impossible, it even doesn’t make sense. None of that makes sense.” Byleth lies, because it makes perfect sense, but she can’t wrap her head around it. She couldn’t just ignore the comments about how unchanged her father’s appearance was. She’d heard them from the clergy, and from Alois himself. Even from Lady Rhea. 

_“Jeralt was an ally of many years…”_

_“When did you meet?”_ Byleth had asked.

She couldn’t forget the hesitant pause before Rhea had answered. _“It was a while back.”_

Claude is staring at her now, and while he always stares so open and lovingly at her, this type of stare is different. He’s analyzing her, and it’s almost as if he’s looking for something. She can’t help but feel a little restless. 

He doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for, and looks like he wants to say something, but smartly chooses not to. “Another question for Rhea, huh?” He says instead, and Byleth gladly takes the redirection. “Guess we’d better get to Enbarr quickly.”

“I need to see her again,” Byleth says with an unexpected edge of urgency. She’d never imagined a day where she so badly wanted to talk to the Archbishop.

“I understand,” he nods. “We need to see her again so we can figure out who you--er, Jeralt, really was. I’ll do my best to make it happen.” 

It’s not like Claude to slip like that, and Byleth eyes him as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, avoiding her gaze. She wonders what it is exactly that he’s thinking, but she thinks she has a clue. “We’re going up against Edelgard here…” she reminds him. “It won’t be so simple.” 

There’s that lopsided, suspicious smile again. Though this one seems a little more wistful than troublesome, it still makes her anxious. “It seems that things rarely are around here, Teach.”

**__________**

Byleth does her best to push the conversation with Claude from her mind over the next few weeks. She can’t afford to be distracted right now, neither of them can. The Enbarr infiltration requires their full attention. It’s make or break, do or die. Every step they’d taken, each battle they’d fought, every life they’d lost, has led to this crucial moment.

It all starts with her. As general of the Alliance military, it all starts with her and the work she does at her desk.

“Professor, that surely won’t work.” 

“Trying my best here, Flayn,” Byleth grimaces. “Now hush, I need to concentrate.”

Flayn stays silent for exactly five seconds. Anything longer Byleth is sure she isn’t capable of. “That won’t be strong enough, you may want to consider switching tactics.” 

She’d already switched tactics once. Groaning, Byleth lets the flower stems slip through her sore fingers. Knots were impossible and loops were only proving more difficult, anything else would likely be impossible. “I can’t do this. I’ve officially been beat by a plant.” It wasn’t even one of Constance’s guard dog flowers this time. Just ordinary dwarf sunflowers with what Byleth deems has thicker than usual stems. What kind of plant steroids was Ashe planting them with?

“You simply lack the patience,” Flayn tuts, taking the half finished garland from her hands and easily bending the stem into a loop, her careful fingers looping the next flower through. The last time she’d done this had been so easy. What had changed?

“I just want it to look nice,” she admits. Ashe had said she couldn’t go wrong, accenting a basic white rose garland with sunflowers. The perfect flower to symbolize the Golden Deer. A perfect plan with less than ideal execution. Staring down at her crooked string of flowers, she knows that turning back time isn’t enough to fix this mess. 

“It doesn’t have to be perfect, Professor,” Flayn continues explaining, returning to her own garland. “I’m sure Claude will appreciate it regardless of how it turns out.”

Byleth’s entire body jerks to attention, her fingers snapping the stem of a flower. “What makes you think I’m giving it to Claude?” She questions sharply, even though she _was_ giving it to Claude. 

Flayn blinks at her, looking between her face and the broken bloom. “You’re already special lovers, are you not?”

“I— we’re not—” Byleth’s brain is having trouble forming a coherent excuse. “Why do we have to be lovers for me to give him a garland?”

The look Flayn gives her is a funny one. “You do not know the Garland Moon tradition?” 

“No.”

It was small traditions like this that Byleth had never been privy to during her time on the road. When she’d first arrived at the monastery, she had this unique unawareness of the Seiros tenets and minor Fódlan holidays. 

Thinking back to the last Garland Moon she’d experienced, the existence of a tradition she was unaware of made the conversation she’d shared with Hilda make a lot more sense. The girl had waltzed into the classroom with a basket of white roses, acting as if Byleth had committed a grave sin by not partaking in the festivities.

  
  


_“Are you meant to give it to one of your friends?” Byleth had asked as Hilda displayed an expertly woven garland._

_“I’m not sure. I have plenty of options, but it’s so hard to pick just one…” she’d hummed thoughtfully, Lysithea rolling her eyes from her spot at the desk. “I was thinking Sylvain, but he has too many already. Maybe I should try Felix?”_

_“What about Claude?” Byleth asked quickly. Surely her house leader would be the first choice as a recipient._

_Beside Hilda, Marianne had made a choking sound. It’s the loudest sound she’s heard from the typically demure girl._

_“Oh, Professor,” Hilda giggled. “I don’t think he’d want one from me. We all know he—”_

_Lysithea immediately started coughing, the combined sounds of her and Marianne silencing a pink-cheeked Hilda. Byleth, as usual, was confused by it._

_“As you were saying?” Byleth continued once the coughing and choking had subsided. She made a note to consult Manuela on cough and cold protocols._

_“He just...wouldn’t want one from me is all,” Hilda said immediately. “You’re meant to give it to someone that’s...important to you.”_

_Again, who could be more important to Hilda than her house leader?_

“The garlands are to be gifted to close friends or… potential lovers,” Flayn chirps in explanation, taking the half-finished garland from Byleth’s hands and completing bringing the two ends together. 

Potential lovers.

So _that_ was why Claude had blushed so bashfully when she’d placed the garland atop his head. He thought she was making a pass at him. Her, his professor.

“Ah, Professor. There you are. May I discuss something with you?” 

Byleth jumps, wondering if the universe was messing with her by sending her former employer into her office. “Seteth. Of course you can,” she croaks, heat rising to her face as Flayn giggles.

Shutting the door behind him, Seteth warily eyes the garlands Flayn had crafted, grimacing slightly as he takes a seat beside his daughter. “And who might you be making those _things_ for?”

“I believe, Father, that it is simply none of your business,” Flayn replies with unexpected flippancy. “But if you must know, I was simply inspired by an illustration in a book I stumbled across quite recently.” Flayn holds up the garland made with white and pink roses. “It’s a near exact replica of Saint Cethleann’s love garland!” 

If Seteth’s face could turn any redder, Byleth was sure his head would explode. “Flayn!” He sputters, but the look on his daughter’s face is absolutely smug. “What have I told you about—”

“You came to speak with me?” Byleth interrupts before Seteth’s fatherly ramble can commence. She’s not entirely sure why such a devout man was so worked up over the mention of one of the saints. 

Seteth takes a moment to recompose himself, clearing his throat a few times as the redness subsides. “I— I did. I apologize for my loss of composure.”

“It’s no issue,” Byleth dismisses as he casts a less than subtle fatherly glare at Flayn, who happily continues weaving her garland. “Did you have any questions about the plan to infiltrate Enbarr?” She really hoped he didn’t, because Byleth didn’t have any answers yet.

“Ah, I’m afraid the matter I must discuss with you is much more delicate than that. I promised to help you find the truth about who you are, do you recall?” Flayn’s movements stutter, and Byleth catches her frown for a fraction of a second.

“I do,” Byleth nods hesitantly. 

“I’m afraid it’s not as simple as it seems. There were some details I have kept concealed,” Seteth confesses, and honestly, Byleth isn’t all too shocked. “It was...more for your own sake rather than Rhea’s.”

“What details?” Byleth presses.

“Five years ago, before she vanished, I asked Rhea some rather pointed questions. I learned that she knows everything about you. No...that is understating it. Rhea is responsible for your existence.”

When she doesn’t immediately answer, Flayn and Seteth watch her expectantly, as if they expect her to freak out. As usual, Byleth was just confused. “What...does that even mean?” She knew how babies were made, and her father definitely couldn’t have...

“I could explain it to you, here and now,” Seteth muses, as if he’s still considering it himself. “But I’m afraid a partial understanding would do you far more harm than good. But I will tell you this; you, Rhea, Flayn, and I are like family. When this war is over, leadership of the Church of Seiros will eventually fall to you. I know that for the majority of your time here with us, I’ve closely scrutinized your every move, but regardless as to what the future brings, what Flayn and I do will depend wholly on you. The ties between us are deeper than you know.”

Byleth actively avoids their gazes, choosing instead to stare at the sunflower clutched in her hand. She thinks of her father, and the deep distrust he harboured in the Church of Seiros and especially in Lady Rhea. The mystery of his age, and her own unbeating heart. The Crest of Flames she came to possess, the fact that she could wield the Sword of the Creator without its crest stone. The answers to all these questions were almost within her reach, so why was she so nervous? “Why...are you telling me this now?”

“I’m telling you this now because we are so close to saving Rhea, and once we do, you will finally know the whole truth. It certainly will be a lot to process. I asked you once before, but are you certain that you’re ready to hear it?”

When he put it like that...she absolutely wasn’t.

**__________**

The gazebos are blissfully quiet today, and Claude had been in the middle of scheming for the next stages of their campaign when the weight in his pocket succeeds in derailing him entirely. 

Instead of reviewing their battle plans, he now stares down at the ring in his palm, anxiously tugging at the collar of his shirt. There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind as to who he wanted to wear it, but if there was one thing Claude had never done before, it was to propose. 

That was what made him anxious. First times were used to find weaknesses and correct errors, not ask someone the most deeply intimate question of his life. 

But this wasn’t something he could take a random stab at and come back to later. It wasn’t trial and error, and he couldn’t hit back harder with a refined plan of attack. 

No, he had one shot. 

To _propose._

Claude knew the general motions of the action. He’d read books. After rescuing the oh-so-thankful damsel in distress, the gallant and dashing prince gets down on one knee, proclaims his undying love for the fair maiden and asks her to marry him. In turn, the damsel graciously accepts and they ride off on his horse into the sunset.

But this was Byleth, who was no damsel and rode a pegasus that would bite Claude’s ear off before they could even think about the sunset. 

There were dozens of ways he could go about proposing, but what would be the right one? Byleth wasn’t an overly romantic individual, and she appreciated what he considered were small gestures. She liked when he remembered something she’d commentsd about the week prior, or when she’d fall asleep at her desk and he draped a blanket over her shoulders. Byleth was a simple woman, but Claude knew that she deserved more than a simple proposal. 

But what if he went too grand? He could often be a little overkill in his tactics - he liked to pull out all the stops to ensure a win. What if he scared her off? What if it was like Gronder, where he was ready, but she wasn’t? 

He hadn’t even thought of that. Here he was, planning a proposal when he wasn’t even sure if Byleth wanted to get married. Marriage wasn’t something to take lightly. You were giving yourself to someone, promising to love them in their entirety, flaws and all. A lifelong commitment. They’d only been together for a few months, and he couldn’t think of a time where she’d ever brought it up. 

What if she just didn’t want to marry _him?_ His stomach turned at the thought.

“Hey, Leader Man, that’s a pretty ring you’ve got there.”

As luck would have it, Claude fumbles with said ring. It falls out of his palm and is about to hit the grass when Hilda crouches and catches it in her hand. Her speed would have been impressive in any other given situation. He’d seen frisbees moving slower that she simply refused to catch.

Claude snatches it out of her palm and tucks it back into his pocket. “You didn’t see anything,” he snaps, perhaps a little too defensively.

“I didn’t see anything at all,” Hilda blinks innocently. “I did not see what was an approximately 1.5 carat asscher cut emerald set inside a beautiful silver band. No, Claude, I definitely didn’t see you holding an _engagement ring.”_

“You didn’t,” he affirms. 

“I did, though!” She whines, even stamping her foot pitifully. “Come on, Claude. You weren’t planning on telling us that you and the professor were in a relationship by getting married, were you?” 

Absolutely. “Who said anything about Byleth?”

“It’s so obvious. You’ve had a crush on her since the ball.” 

“I...did not.” He did. Since the goddess tower, specifically. He’d been - in simpler terms - whipped. Not that he’d ever admit that to Hilda.

Hilda squints at him. “Even I know that you’re a better liar than this.” Yeah, Claude knew it too. “Just admit you’re a couple, or I’ll make your life _very_ difficult.” 

She was already making it difficult, but he didn’t exactly trust her to keep this a secret. It’d eventually come out to someone she was close to, and well, the whole monastery would know by sundown. 

But it _would_ be nice to have some help with this particular task. 

That’s his first mistake. It’s never good to admit weakness. “Okay, fine. But Hilda, you cannot tell _anyone,”_ he stresses, though he doesn’t think she can hear him over her excited shriek. 

“Oh my gosh, I knew it! You’ve been making eyes at each other since Derdriu, and my brother said that he could cut the sexual tension between you two with an axe. And now you’re proposing? Ugh, wow. Just wow.” 

He’s not sure why she’s so shocked. Did she not expect someone like her to fall for someone like him? “You don’t think she’ll freak out...do you?” 

She slaps his shoulder at the expression of self-doubt, and already he regrets telling her. “Of course not! She loves you too, you know. She wouldn’t have put up with you all by herself if she didn’t.”

Lysithea suddenly approaches, holding a tome and a plate of sweets. “Hey guys.” 

Hilda waves, and Claude gives a nod in greeting, counting down from thirty in his head. 

He makes it to seventeen when Hilda blurts, “Claude is proposing to the professor!” 

The little mage’s eyes light up in a way Claude rarely got to see, the cookies on her plate nearly sliding off as she bounces excitedly. “Oh? That’s so great!”

“What’s so great?” Marianne asks next, and Claude swivels around to see her coming around the corner with Ignatz.

“Claude is going to ask the professor to marry him!” 

As he’s pelted with questions about his love life, Claude sighs, sinking into his seat. 

Wherever would he be without the help of his allies?

**__________**

Byleth is in the middle of carefully tucking her folded cloak into a bag when Claude lets himself into her room, his hands once again held behind his back. “Packing already?” He teases, kicking the door shut behind him.

“We’re leaving tomorrow, Claude. Please tell me you’ve packed.” They were marching for the Bridge first thing in the morning, where they would meet up with the rest of the Alliance’s troops before marching on Enbarr. 

“Eh, I’ll pack in the morning,” he shrugs, and Byleth envies how lax he is, even as their confrontation with Edelgard draws near. “I wanted to give you a few things before we leave.” 

She’s fully expecting another stack of intelligence reports, so to say she’s surprised to see him holding a white rose garland would be an understatement. Byleth holds her hands out to take it, and Claude lays it across her palms. 

Upon closer inspection, she realizes that it’s not just any white rose garland. She recognizes the messy knotting and torn leaves as markers of her own handiwork, complete with a single sunflower in the centre. 

He kept it. 

The petals aren’t at all wilted, their colour still a brilliant white that stands out in contrast to her dark room. “How is it—”

Claude casts a relatively weak heal spell, and the petals regain a vibrancy Byleth hadn’t noticed they were missing before. “Faith magic increases the longevity of most plants,” he explains. “After years of having Marianne and Lysithea do it for me, I eventually learned to do it myself.” 

The thought of Claude hunched over a tome makes Byleth smile. He’d never been adept at magic, but when he put his mind to something, he would stop at nothing to learn it. Especially if it were for something important. 

“All this time…” she murmurs, brushing a thumb over a rose. “Why keep it?”

“I guess I’m a sentimental guy, Teach,” he grins, leaning back against her dresser. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure at first. I guess I just didn’t have the heart to throw it out, but once the war started...I think I kept it as more of a reminder. It was the first gift you gave me, and it was something we made together.”

Setting the old garland down on her desk, Byleth retrieves the new one from her drawer. She walks up to him and places it atop his head before taking his face in her hands, planting a kiss on his cheek. “You are a soft man, Claude von Riegan.” 

His hands encircle her wrists, using his grip to pull her flush against him. “Only for you, my star. And you missed,” he chuckles, dipping down to catch her lips with his. The kiss is warm, tasting of Almyran pine and something mint.

Before he inevitably gets the chance to deepen it and drag her into bed, she shoves him back lightly, laughing when he pouts. “You aren’t getting any action until you pack your things, Duke Riegan.” 

He smiles coyly at her, but she notices his hands linger for a moment longer than usual, fingertips pressing down lightly. Byleth backs out of his hold, clasping her hands at the small of her back. She didn’t like the look in his eye, laced with suspicion and avid curiosity. 

Her silence seems to shake Claude out of his stupor. “Oh, uh, sorry. I was just thinking about something,” he apologizes quickly, but the line between his brows doesn’t disappear. Byleth chooses to let it slide. No use in starting something right now. “Anyways, before I leave you to your packing, there was one more thing I wanted to return. I never opened it, so I don’t know what’s inside.”

“How kind of you,” Byleth mutters, albeit a smidge dryly. 

But when he hands her a familiar leather pouch, whatever she’s feeling immediately dissipates, and she clutches it close to the space where her heart doesn’t beat. “I thought I lost this forever,” she breathes. “Thank you. Really.” 

“Can I ask what’s inside?”

With her father’s words echoing through her mind, Byleth safely tucks the pouch into her pocket. “When the war is over, you’ll be the first to see it.”

**__________**

From the minute they storm Enbarr, each moment seems fleeting, and Byleth only remembers pieces of it. 

Claude enters from the northwest, while Byleth secures the south. She leads Lysithea over to the Death Knight, where the majority of Byleth’s elite unit works together to put him down once and for all. Felix gets his wish, and drives his sword through the masked knight’s throat. 

Dorothea clears the Mittlefrank Opera House, ushering scared civilians inside that hadn’t been evacuated, instructing her battalion to keep them safe while she takes control of the fire orb and rains fire down on the soldiers of her home country. 

Sylvain and Lorenz lead the cavalry around the city, quickly eliminating each oncoming unit of reinforcements before they become too problematic. 

Ashe, Leonie, and Hapi incapacitate the flying demonic beasts, holding them back with magic and arrows, shooting the things out of the sky. 

Ingrid and Constance secure the skies, sending Imperial Falcon Knights plummeting to the ground, pierced by Luin or writhing under Constance’s magic. Hilda and Petra lead the Cichol Wyvern Co, and prove to be an immovable wall, watching over their units on the ground.

When the time comes to approach the gates of the Imperial Castle, Claude lands directly in front of Byleth, hoisting her up onto the back of his wyvern. “Just Hubert left to deal with!” 

Hubert had been quite adept with dark magic, and would prove a formidable opponent. But what was more dangerous than his magical prowess was his unwavering loyalty to the emperor. Now that he was backed into a corner, he was bound to lash out. 

Lash out he does, putting up one spectacular final fight in the name of his leige. Not only is he surprisingly evasive as both she and Claude let arrow after arrow fly, but a wicked bolt of lightning he casts manages to clip his wyvern’s wing, sending them into a near spiral to the ground. 

Sturdy and dependable as she is, Alya manages to land somewhat safely, allowing both Byleth and Claude to plant both feet on the ground. 

Without the advantage of the sky and extended movement, the battlefield had been levelled, and Hubert stands a hundred metres away, hands aglow with ghastly purple magic. Byleth shoves her remaining quiver of arrows into Claude’s hands, unsheathing the Sword of the Creator. She rolls her shoulders and pops the sides of her neck.

“Cover me,” she instructs. When he nods, Byleth slowly strides forward, her eyes not leaving Hubert once. 

“I should have disposed of you a long time ago,” Hubert snarls, casting a ball of miasma at her. Byleth drops to the ground and rolls to the side, hearing the magic begin to dissolve the stone behind her. “I will rectify that failure here!” 

Claude’s arrow whizzes by her ear, distracting Hubert enough that she dashes forward a few steps. “It’s over, lapdog,” Claude shouts back. “Your military rule is at its end.”

Hubert casts another bolt of lightning behind her, and she hears Claude jump out of the way. “For every step you take along that path, our thorns will dig into your heels.”

Unfazed and flippant as ever, Claude replies, “Ooh, that sounds painful!” Another arrow that barely misses its mark. “I’ll have to wear thicker soles for the march.”

“If your boots are too heavy, you won’t be able to lift your feet. But enough—” He’s cut off by a gurgle of blood that seeps from his mouth, and Byleth removes the blade of her sword with the flick of her wrist. 

Enbarr is theirs.

**__________**

“What will we do with Fódlan?” Byleth asks as they study the intelligence gathered by Dedue. “Once the Empire falls?” She hopes she isn’t being too naive in immediately assuming that they’ll win here. But they’re set up outside of the Imperial Castle preparing to breach its walls, and Byleth knows that this is it. The culmination of every move they’ve made, the deciding factor, and the endgame. 

Once this is all over, where do they go from here? 

“The subject is heavy on my mind,” Claude muses, folding up the letter and tucking it away somewhere. “Odd as it sounds, I believe that the forces responsible for destroying Fódlan are also responsible for protecting the livelihood of its citizens. Everything, even the land itself, has been harmed by the chaos of war. Restoring it will be no easy feat. To do that, the first thing we need to think about is a new ruling system for all of Fódlan to fall under.” 

“We could unify Fódlan as one nation,” she suggests mildly. “Isn’t that the purpose of your dream? To tear down the walls that divide us?”

“As usual, we’re on the same page,” Claude smiles brightly. “I was thinking the same thing. My dreams await in a future where Fódlan is no longer ravaged by war, and there are things I want to see with you someday. There needs to be a single powerful ruler who stands above the remaining Alliance lords and influential nobles in Faerghus and Adrestia to truly unify the nation.” 

Byleth tilts her head as she looks up at him. “Isn’t that going to be you?” He was the leader of the Alliance, it only made sense for him to take up that mantle himself.

But there’s something in the way his eyes sparkle when he smiles at her. And it’s that smile that indicates that he’s done something, or is about to. “If it means I can lead Fódlan to a better future, I wouldn’t mind that at all, but I think I’ve got someone else in mind.”

He continues on before she can ask who, because who would be better suited to rule than him? She has no idea who he might want to put on a throne.

“Whatever we decide to do, we can’t do it until we defeat the Empire. Fódlan can’t welcome a new dawn until we win the war.”

“Is there no way to walk the same path as the Empire? As Edelgard?” Byleth asks hesitantly.

Claude actually seems to contemplate this. “She’s a fellow student to us all. If there’s a path we can walk together, then that would be preferable. I know where you and I stand, so it all depends on Edelgard. If she won’t yield, then that’s that. If showing pity would put you or my allies in danger, I will not hesitate to kill her. Are you prepared to do the same?”

“I am,” Byleth nods immediately. “It’s in the syllabus, Claude. Don’t hesitate.”

**__________**

True to the syllabus, Claude doesn’t hesitate. There are more units than expected within the castle, but with Dedue’s intelligence, stellar tactics, and formidable warriors, the Alliance army clears a quick path to the throne room. The second they storm it, Claude flies right around the abnormally large demonic beast to confront the emperor. She instructs the rest of her students to hold a line of defense.

Byleth slinks though the shadows, hiding behind a nearby pillar. “Your ideals…” she hears Edelgard say. “I understand they’re not so far removed from my own. But without sufficient knowledge of this land’s suffering, I can’t entrust Fódlan to you!” 

There’s the telltale clash of weapons, and Byleth dares to sneak a peek. Edelgard hurls tomahawks at him, Claude responding with an arrow at every turn. When they’re both breathing fairly heavily, she sees that Claude has dismounted, and is approaching Edelgard’s throne with Failnaught raised, an arrow notched and pointed straight at her forehead. 

“Perhaps,” Claude shrugs. “I daresay it’s true that I don’t fully understand the history of Fódlan. Still, I’ve seen many things in my life. Don’t worry,” he assures her, I’ll finish the job for you.”

The arrow misses its mortal strike, lodging itself into her throne. “It’s not like you to miss, Claude,” Edelgard taunts, raising Aymr. “You always prided yourself on being quite the marksman.”

That sly grin Byleth loves so much emerges on his lips as he lowers his bow. “I didn’t miss.” 

The blackpowder variant that Constance had engineered from the flammable black water ignites at the behest of Claude’s weak blast of faith magic, creating an explosion far larger than either of them are expecting. Byleth’s breath catches when Claude is thrown backwards, but is caught by his wyvern. 

Edelgard isn’t as lucky, the force of the blast sending her backwards and toppling down the stairs. 

Where she lands a few feet in front of Byleth.

Shouldering the burden of an entire country, Edelgard rises on unsteady feet, hobbling over to where Aymr had been discarded. Her arms shake as she lifts the axe, lifting her gaze to meet Byleth’s. 

“Professor,” she coughs as Byleth emerges from her hiding place. “I suppose you think you can defeat me. Is that right? But I will...never give up.” The emperor looks about ready to topple over, that indomitable will of hers the only thing keeping her upright. “Even if my arms and legs have failed me, I would still find a way to move forward. I will smash that false goddess and her minion into the ground! I will fight to free this world from her vile grasp!” 

It seems that Edelgard has made her decision, so Byleth has too. 

The emperor lunges first, dropping her axe and catching Byleth off guard with a full body tackle, knocking her sword aside and sending them both tumbling atop the cold marble floors. Obviously depleted of her strength, it doesn’t take long for Byleth to switch their positions, using her legs to lock Edelgard in place. Byleth is reaching for the dagger on her hip when Edelagrd releases a blast of magic - similar to the energy that had cast her off a cliff - and sends her flying a few feet back. She lands roughly, groaning at the impact as her back meets the floor. 

Byleth is staggering to her feet as Edelgard moves to reclaim her axe. Before she can pick it up, an arrowhead bursts through her shoulder, and she drops to a knee with a strangled cry. 

Claude is standing behind her, Failnaught still glowing in his hands. “Edelgard, give it up! We don’t want to have to kill you!” 

“One of us must die…” She winces, clutching her shoulder. “If we do not act now, this conflict...will go on forever.”

Picking up her sword, Byleth quickly takes her spot by Claude’s side. The jagged edge glows with holy fury as she brandishes it.

The emperor looks like she’s moving to stand, but instead touches the handle of her axe, whose crest stone briefly glows. Its light quickly dissipates as she gently rests her weapon on the floor. “It looks as though...my path will end here. It seems that your paths...lie across my grave.”

Byleth looks to Claude, who nods solemnly, lowering his bow and taking a step back. 

“I wanted...to walk with you.”

True to the syllabus that she’d written all those years ago, Byleth raises the Sword of the Creator, and this time she doesn’t hesitate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth's new crit quote: IT'S IN THE SYLLABUS
> 
> ____
> 
> ps: i know that Jeralt's age and timeline probably aren’t entirely right, but I was just tossin out numbers and scenarios to get to 100 lol


	27. stand strong at shambhala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! May your year be full of blessings and infinitely better than the last. Your kind words and comments were certainly a wonderful gift to me in these last few months. Thank you.

Claude knows that he should be happy that Rhea is alive, and they’d finally get some answers, but he can’t deny that there was a small, very tiny part of him that wished she could just stay away forever. He’d never admit this and he knows it’s horrible, but he can’t help it. With Rhea back in the fold, his dream was about to get a little more complicated. 

There’s another reason though, and he realizes it as the Archbishop clings to Byleth like a lifeline, talking about how she so longed to see her again. 

Rhea had always been obsessed with Byleth. That fact was clear as day to anyone with eyes, and made them all wildly uncomfortable. Even Seteth seems a bit fidgety, his frown a little deeper than usual, and Flayn’s gaze is flicking anxiously between the two mint haired women. 

There’s something going on, something that the two of them aren’t saying. Or _can’t_ say. 

From the moment Byleth had set foot in Garreg Mach, the Archbishop’s eye had been immediately caught. It’d confused Claude for the longest time. Why would the most powerful woman in all of Fódlan be so fond of a mercenary she’d never met, and had no prior knowledge of the religion she preached? 

It was suspicious, to say the least. 

Yes, her father was the captain of the knights for...some amount of time, but it was something other than nepotism that had prompted Rhea to hire this wayward mercenary and make her the professor to a classroom full of nobles. She’d even allowed her to keep the Sword of the Creator - the most powerful weapon of all - and had done it so willingly.

The answer had eventually become apparent within Jeralt’s diary. Rhea had done something to his baby - to Byleth - and whatever it was had scared him so bad that it’d prompted him to leave. At first it sounded insane. The Archbishop, mother of all things holy, experimenting on a child? An infant, no less. 

But then it started to sound less insane, because no, Byleth did not have a heartbeat, but she did have a pulse. He’d even seen the thick scar down the length of her sternum. The evidence was in the living, breathing being standing before his army and commanding his people since she’d returned from what was basically the world’s longest nap, woken by the goddess she’d merged with after cutting a hole in the sky.

Perhaps the most unusual thing of all though, was that she hadn’t looked like she’d aged a day since. 

If his suspicions were correct, that was something Claude wasn’t too sure he was ready to face.

“Claude,” Rhea calls weakly. “I can see you have grown into a reliable young man...thank you for supporting the professor, and for rescuing me. Surely the protection of the goddess has—”

“Wait, Rhea,” he interrupts bluntly before she can deliver her sermon. “What do you know about the children of the goddess?” 

She seems to pale even more than she already has due to her confinement, staring at him unblinking. “Children of...What is this about?”

So he tells her what they’d learned from Hubert’s letter. Javelins of light and secret bases. Slithering in darkness and plotting nefarious schemes. Resenting children of the goddess. 

And still, though he _knows_ that she knows something, she refuses to say so, opting to stay silent as the healers look her over. 

Which pisses him off, naturally. Answers. He needed her for answers and she still refused to provide. “This is the critical moment that will determine whether or not Fódlan falls! Can’t you see that the time for secrets has passed?”

“Rhea, please,” Byleth jumps in, taking her hand in both of her own. “Anything you can tell us would help a great deal.”

That seems to soften her a bit, responding to Byleth’s plea with a small nod. “Nemesis was originally the leader of a group of bandits. He plundered the Holy Tomb and stole the remains of the progenitor god. When he appeared in Zanado sometime later, he already wielded the Sword of the Creator.”

Byleth touches the handle of her sword, which glows in response. Rhea closes her eyes as it does. “How did Nemesis get the sword, then?”

“I do not know how, or why he appeared in Zanado. But he used that sword to massacre the people there. The children of the progenitor god. From their corpses he gained even more power, and brought war to Fódlan.”

A war...like the War of Heroes? “That’s completely different from what the legends tell us about Nemesis,” Claude points out. 

She opens her eyes again, staring over his shoulder with a far off look in her gaze. “A mere bandit like Nemesis would not have been capable of anything so monstrous on his own…”

“He had accomplices,” Byleth concludes, turning to him with a grave look on her face. “Those accomplices must have been those who slither in the dark.”

“And all this time they were using the Imperial army - using Edelgard - to once again bring war to Fódlan. I think I finally get it. They were using each other.” Even if their ultimate goal was to destroy one another, for a time their goals had aligned enough to form some sort of alliance.

He and Byleth watch as Rhea is ushered away by Seteth and a few healers, and it occurs to Claude that they’d never gotten a real answer about the children of the goddess. 

“They must have been the people of Zanado,” Byleth guesses when he brings it up. “She did say that the people of the Red Canyon were the children of the progenitor god, so I suppose so.”

“But those evil guys still continue to plot their revenge after the Red Cnayon Tragedy. Does that mean that the children of the goddess, or their descendants, are still alive?”

“Like...Rhea?” Byleth contemplates. “Or Flayn?”

“Could be. Rhea did talk about what happened in Zanado as if she’d been there herself. We can’t rule Flayn out either, if there really is something special about her blood.”

Byleth makes an assenting noise, but doesn’t add much else. She eyes Rhea quite warily, the questioning look accompanied by a frown. 

As she does so, Claude disappears into the bottomless swamp that is his mind again, wondering just what he was missing here. 

**__________**

Hubert’s letter had come as a surpise to them all. Reading about a secret enemy plotting to exact revenge on the children of the goddess and bring suffering to the people of Fódlan had swept the rug from under their feet, quickly killing the high of their victory. 

Just when Byleth through the situation couldn’t get any stranger, she’d been proven wrong. Finding and rescuing Rhea had opened up a whole new can of worms. Children of the goddess, divine protection over Garreg Mach, new truths about Nemesis and the Sword of the Creator. 

All in all, Byleth had learned two things; the fight to bring peace to Fodlan was far from over, and the Church had buried more secrets than it let on.

To add to her confusion, Claude had been quite withdrawn since the events of Enbarr and their conversations with Rhea. She’d hardly spoken to him upon their return to Garreg Mach, as he’d spent the majority of his time going over the research that had accompanied Hubert’s letter. He wanted to strike Shambhala as soon as possible, and was attempting to learn all he could about the base and it’s inhabitants in their extremely limited time period.

When Claude is lost in thoughts, it’s difficult to pull him out of his own head. The fool could think himself in circles when it came to things he wasn’t familiar with or hadn’t already thought ahead to. As someone who prided himself on usually being two or three steps ahead, it must have been frustrating to learn of a threat that’d literally been lurking right underneath his nose the entire time.

But other than the blow to his confidence, she can tell there’s something else that’s bothering him. She just doesn’t know what. 

The night before they advance on Shambhala, Byleth crafts a foolproof strategy. She decides that she’s just going to corner him and ask. 

He’s not in his tent when she goes to check on him, and after a bit of asking around, Seteth mentions that he’d gone to patrol the perimeter. Following the direction he’d pointed her in, Byleth finds Claude laying by a small pond and gazing up through a clearing in the trees. As she walks closer, she can hear him mumbling to himself, listing off the names of the constellations. 

“Not a very good way to conduct a watch,” she chuckles, pushing past a thin branch. “I could stab you before you find Ursa Major.”

He sits up and cracks a small smile at that, though it’s tired and frankly a little sad. “Hey. What are you doing out here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Byleth takes a seat beside him in the grass, staring at small ripples in the water. It’s the perfect night to go fishing. Calm winds, quiet waters, minimum distractions. Her father loved dragging her out on nights like this, and they’d catch dozens of fish before dawn. It was a nice memory. “Are you alright?”

“I’m just thinking,” he sighs, absentmindedly picking at a blade of grass. “There’s a lot going on in my head.”

“Ah,” Byleth frowns, noting the listless tone he’d taken. He sounded a little lost, which was strange for Claude. “Well, I’m here if you want to talk. I can lend you an ear or a shoulder. Or I can leave if you need to be alone for a bit.” 

“No,” he says quickly. “Stay, please. I need you.” 

Well, she definitely couldn’t leave then. When she nods at him, Claude lays back again and Byleth joins him, staring up at the clear night sky. “Are you okay?” She asks agains, nudging him gently.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I guess it’s because I’m finally getting the chance to process a lot of it. The war, I mean.” 

“What about it?” The lives they’d taken? The soldiers they’d lost? The things they’d done in the name of the Alliance? There were so many aspects of war that could weigh heavy on one’s heart. But such was the burden to carry as the victors. 

“Back when we were in the Academy I just...didn’t really expect any of it, you know?” He says quietly. “Part of me is kicking myself for not figuring it all out sooner, because the signs were there. Her suggesting that the house leaders go on a sketchy trip into the woods. Ferdinand making some offhand comment on how secretive she and Hubert were, Caspar mentioning his father meeting with Edelgard. I should have known. Maybe I could have talked to her or—” 

“Stop,” Byleth interrupts, sitting up and staring down at him. “You couldn’t have changed anything. Edelgard was a lot of things, but she clearly wasn’t someone who ever changed her mind.” 

“You’re probably right,” he considers with a heavy sigh. “Dimitri though...I wish I could have helped him. I shouldn’t have let him run off at Gronder.” 

“He made a choice,” Byleth sighs, recalling the way he’d cut through red and yellow soldiers alike. Attacking his friends and ignoring the orders of those around him. “He wouldn’t have listened either. They were both very hard headed people who were chasing their own goals.” 

She says that, but they were her students too. She’d known them, perhaps not as well as she knew Claude, but she’d known them nonetheless. Before the realities of this geopolitical war had forced them to grow in ways that were inexplicable.

Claude sits up again, drawing his knees up and hanging his head between them. “We all had goals and dreams when we arrived at the Officer’s Academy. So different in our upbringings yet somehow still the same. We all wanted to make Fódlan better for the people who live here. And now...I’m the only one left to do that.”

“Oh…” Byleth realizes, her tongue failing her as she searches for the words - any words, really - to comfort him. There are no words, she figures out, because nothing would change the fact that both other house leaders were dead. 

Neither of them said anything, letting the sounds of the forest fill their silence. Leaves rustling in the wind, campfire and torches crackling nearby, the soft babble of the stream. It’s relatively peaceful, and reminiscent of nights with her father. Her chest aches at the thought of him. 

“It’s shitty to think about, I know,” Claude sighs, shaking his head and drawing Byleth back into their grim reality. “I can’t help but wonder though...what if you hadn’t picked me?” He asks, though she’s not sure if it’s rhetorical or if she’s meant to answer. “Could I have been the one who’d...If you had picked Edelgard or Dimitri, could everything have gone differently?”

Byleth hadn’t ever given herself the luxury of questioning it, but could it have been? Could the end result of this brutal war have been different? Is it possible that she, a single person, could have changed the course of events regarding an entire country?

Unlikely, but an interesting thought nonetheless. 

“It doesn’t help to ruminate on it,” she says, placing her hand on his knee. “All that matters is that we’re right where we need to be right now, and you being alive is a sign that you’re on the right path. The one that leads to a better Fódlan. One that you’ll create to honour them both.”

For Dimitri, who snapped training weapons daily and apologized profusely for letting his inhuman strength get the best of him. Who drank chamomile tea with her on his birthday and blushed when she’d ruffled his hair and gifted him a new lance.

For Edelgard, who’d distanced herself from her a bit, but was ever the studious one who paid rapt attention during each one of Byleth’s seminars. Whose eyes widened in surprise when Byleth had gifted her an armoured bear plush and a bouquet of blood red carnations on her birthday. 

For who they were, and who they could have become. 

“I guess it’s our responsibility as the victors. We have to finish the job for him. Maybe that way...they can both rest easy,” Claude agrees with a weak smile. “I know you said not to ruminate but I have to ask— why did you pick me?” He pauses, the corner of his lip quirking upwards. “Was it love at first sight? Was I just too handsome and dashing to pass up? We’re you swayed by my boyish charms and roguish smile?”

“Certainly not.” Byleth answers honestly, attempting to recreate her mindset from five years ago. “I won’t lie to you, the Blue Lions were my first choice. The raw strength and sum of knowledge regarding close range weaponry was very appealing to me.” Strength was familiar to her. Swords and lances were her area of expertise, opposed to axes and bows and magic. The Blue Lions were the logical choice.

He raises a brow at her. “Come on, tell me what you were thinking then.”

But if there was one thing her father had taught her, it was that thinking was overrated. It was never ‘what do you _think_ about our chances?’ and was always how she _felt_ about them. When something doesn’t feel right you don’t do it, no matter how good your chances are. 

“It just… didn’t feel right,” she tries, searching for the right wording. “The moment I stepped into the Blue Lion or Black Eagle classrooms I felt like I was being immediately evaluated or assessed. Like they were either waiting for me to mess up or to prove myself.” Perhaps it wasn’t fair of her to go off a first impression like that, and as students from both classes switched over into the Golden Deer, she’d loved them all the same. 

There was just something about her original crop of students that had so strongly drawn her into picking them. They were instantly so warm and welcoming, bringing her into the fold and making her feel at home. “The Golden Deer felt like the right path,” she smiles, resting her head atop his shoulder. “I’ll admit you got on my nerves from time to time, but you...understood me. Maybe even better than I did myself.” 

At the end of the day, isn’t that what everyone wanted? To be seen as your true self and accepted regardless?

Claude seems content with her answer, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. Byleth leans into the warmth of his side, appreciating the heat of his body shielding her from the crisp cool of Ordelia’s forests. 

**__________**

“Incredible,” Lysithea breathes in what Claude would assume is meant to be awe if not for the tremble in her voice. “Who knew that there was such a vast space beneath the ground?”

“It’s like an underground city,” Judith adds. “I’ve never seen buildings like this before. 

Claude doubts any of them have. The buildings are made of thick black material that he isn’t familiar with, aglow with strips of blue and purple lighting that stripe each building and mark the ground beneath their feet. All this, right under Goneril and bordering old Hyrm. 

And none of them were the wiser. 

“It’s like some sort of ancient ruin,” Lysithea observes, using a fire spell to create more lighting. “But not just becuase of it’s appearance. I’ve never seen architecture like this before.”

“We’re going to travel in four groups of three,” Byleth commands, immune to the awestruck nature of the rest of their friends. “I want everyone to have a flier on their team. Hilda, you go with Marianne and Sylvain. Ingrid, you’re with Felix and Ashe. Constance, I want you with Yuri and Petra. Claude, you stick with Lysithea and I. We want to clear the area but make sure you’re within radius of at least one of the other teams. We don’t know what’s down here, so please, exercise caution.”

Everyone is quick to group up, gathering around Byleth and Seteth to receive further instructions when Rhea approaches him with a panicked look in her eyes. 

“Are you not feeling well?” Claude asks, looking for any further signs of discomfort. He couldn’t have the Archbishop dying on his watch. That wasn’t quite the way he wanted his reign over Fódlan to begin. 

“No,” she replies tersely. “It is simply...We must defeat this enemy, and soon. All I ask is that you keep your professor safe.” 

“Of course,” he agrees immediately. “I’d never let anything happen to her.”

“I know. It’s just that...I fear for her in this environment.” 

If anything, Byleth was usually the one Claude was least worried about. “She’s perfectly capable of handling herself. She wields the Sword of the Creator and is the most capable fighter amongst our ranks.” 

Rhea doesn’t quite look convinced. “Her body houses the same power that they once bestowed upon Nemesis. She is the one they wish to kill the most. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve tried...” 

He recalls the incidents with Monica and Tomas, or whoever they really were. Killing her father to lure her into a trap - a trap that had almost taken her from them— from him. “She’ll be fine,” Claude insists, though he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince anymore. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“A sweet sentiment, child,” Rhea sighs, glancing longingly at Byleth. There’s something in her gaze that seemed...longing. “But I’m afraid there’s only so much you and I can do for her. All we can do is ask the goddess to keep her safe, which I know she will.” 

Claude’s expression pinches, and his mouth moves before his brain can tell it to close. “That doesn’t exactly appeal to me.”

The Archbishop looks at him as if he’d blasphemed - which, to be fair, he kind of had. “I beg your pardon?”

He was caught between a rock and a hard place now, wasn’t he? His mouth goes dry as he considers how best to proceed. Shut up and play nice, or speak his truth and see how it shakes out?

Well, he was technically the leader of Fodlan now, so what would _she_ do about it? “I don’t like the idea of gambling and entrusting my life in the hands of another. I’m sure as hell not gonna let anyone gamble with Teach’s, goddess or not.” 

“A bold statement,” Rhea replies, her usually calm tone a shade angry. “May I ask why not?”

There were so many reasons that it was hard for him to pick just one. “What kind of goddess lets the prince of the _Holy_ Kingdom of Faerghus die? Or the emperor of Adrestia, whose ancester Seiros once blessed and crowned herself?”

At the mention of the revered saint, something inside of the Archbishop seems to snap. “ _Seiros_ was simply upholding her end of a bargain. As for the late prince and that...that girl, don’t blame the goddess for their misfortunes, and especially not for that wretched woman’s sins. She makes no exemptions in regards to whom she passes her judgement unto, or how. People create their own fates, and by proxy bring about their own judgement.” 

“Is the Church of Seiros changing their belief system then?” He challenges, well aware of the shit that he’s currently stirring. “Don’t the Seiros tenets state that all our fates were in the goddess’ hands?”

Rhea tries to backtrack, stumbling over her words. “That isn’t— it’s not—” 

“The Crest system,” Claude starts, vaguely recalling a conversation he’d once had with Dimitri about the very topic. Why judge someone by what runs through our blood, and not by the virtue of our deeds? Edelgard recognized the problem too, the only difference was that she had the guts to act on it. “It upholds the entire hierarchy of the nobility and royalty. All because the goddess chose one family line over another.”

“The goddess didn’t _choose_ anyone—” she tries to defend.

“But that’s the idea you preach, isn’t it? That your fate is tied to the blessings that the goddess does or doesn’t grant you? The crest that runs through one’s blood, the colour of their skin, the land in which one was born, the family they were brought into.” 

“You seem awfully familiar with that girl’s manifesto,” she states accusingly.

It was a fair assumption. Claude had read the entire thing word for word multiple times in his attempts to uncover the reasoning behind the madness. To his surprise, he’d found that they had more in common than he thought. They both wanted to create a better Fódlan, where people were seen as equals. “I’m not trying to justify what Edelgard did. War is _never_ the right solution. I’m acknowledging that there was a valid reason as to _why_ she did it. She saw an unjust pattern and wanted to break it.” 

Judging by Rhea’s silence, he seems to have caught her off guard, causing a wave of confidence to sweep over him at rendering the Archbishop speechless. “I’m not saying all of this to antagonize the Seiros faith. The Church has done some half-decent things in its prime. The Officer’s Academy, for starters. What I’m saying is that it’s flawed - as most things in the world are. Now that I’m in charge, a lot is going to be changing around here, and you know where I’m going to start? Right there.”

He nods his head towards Byleth, who’s deep in conversation with Felix and Annette. “So I’m not too keen on letting anything happen to her. In that case, do you mind if I ask something?”

Rhea sighs tiredly. “I cannot guarantee an answer.” Whether that was to save what little dignity she had left or simply out of spite for his earlier comments, he couldn’t tell.

“If things are as you say, and the goddess really doesn’t move us around like pieces on a chess board - and that’s a big _if_ \- what makes Byleth the exception? After everything that happened to her in the Academy, even I can’t deny that the goddess played some sort of role in it all. Why did the goddess choose her?”

That far off look has returned, her lips pursing into a tight line before answering. “As I said before, the goddess did not choose. Byleth is my...she is…” 

_“Claude, you might want to take a look at this!”_

Claude whips his head around at the sound of Byleth’s voice, internally groaning at how close he’d come to some semblance of the truth. 

His grief is short- lived, however, when he sees that Byleth and Felix are currently whacking at a hulking metal...thing? He isn’t too sure what exactly it was that they were dealing with. 

The blade attached to its mechanical arm swings out at Felix, who barrel rolls away at the last second, narrowly avoiding the huge blade that ends up slicing through the wall behind him like a hot knife through butter. 

Notching an arrow into his silver bow, he casts a wary glance at Rhea. “Would you happen to know what that thing is?” He asks, though she seems to be just as shocked and dumbfounded as he is. 

“They appear to have no will of their own,” she observes as Annette starts blasting off wind spells at the thing. “Someone must be controlling them.” 

Claude commands the rest of his former classmates and soldiers forward, firing off an arrow at the metal beast. The way it bounces off is offensive, and frankly a little worrying. Switching to Failnaught, he’s about to release another arrow when someone, somewhere begins to talk. 

_“So you have shown yourself, Fell Star. or should I say...Sothis?”_ The deep, gravelly voice bounces off the walls around them, and Claude has no idea where to point his bow. _“For thousands of years, we have existed underground, living on only that we might someday see our vengeance realized. Here and now, vengeance is finally within our grasp. I will spill every drop of blood in your body to fulfill the longstanding goal of the Agarthans!”_

Unfortunately, Claude knows whose blood he speaks of, and she’s a few feet in front of him wielding the sword of the Nemesis. Despite his best efforts to remain calm, panic grips his heart and refuses to let go. 

_“Initiate all that remain! Advance our preparations!”_

The familiar rumble of footsteps thunders in the distance, along with the shouts of soldiers and the manic laughter of the voice that had spoken to them. 

What a welcome.

**__________**

They barely make it out alive. 

Rhea saves them. Saves her. The Archbishop turns into a massive white dragon and flies right into the javelins of light that an injured Thales had called upon moments before Byleth could have dealt him a finishing blow.

Rhea smiles at her, and closes her eyes. Byleth is not going to let her die without getting any answers. 

The trip back to the monastery goes by in a blur. All Byleth registers is a lot of shouting, flashes of faith magic, and Claude repeatedly asking if she’s alright. 

She was mostly okay, but to say she was shocked would have been an understatement. Shambhala had been unlike any terrain she’d fought on before. Rigged with deadly traps and doors that were locked, it’d been every tactician’s nightmare. To make it worse, the place was crawling with enemies that had immediately been locked in on her the entire time. 

Judging from Manuela’s grim prognosis of Rhea’s condition, Byleth didn’t have time to be shocked. She still had questions she needed answered. It seemed that Claude did too. As Byleth leans against the wall outside the infirmary, he paces restlessly in front of her. 

“Remember when this place was taken five years ago, and a pure white beast appeared on the battlefield? I only caught a glimpse of it, but I didn’t understand where it came from. There were rumours that the goddess had sent it to protect the monastery...But now I know better. That beast was Rhea.”

“She tried to save me,” Byleth frowns. It wouldn’t have been the first time, either. Rhea had tried to save her from falling on that very day. 

“Did you know that it was her?” Claude inquires, halting his step and facing her.. 

The way she’d talked to her that day had been a pretty good indicator. “I suppose I might have, but I wasn’t entirely sure.”

He begins pacing again, the soles of his boots surely wearing a path into the floorboards. “I once showed you a picture of a creature known as the Immaculate One. The beast that appeared back then looked just like it. Rhea is the Immaculate One. The book said it was a servant of the goddess, but wouldn't it make sense if beasts like that are actually children of the goddess?”

“Only one way to find out,” Byleth sighs, gesturing vaguely to the woman behind the closed infirmary doors. 

“Right,” he nods. “Once things have calmed down a bit, let’s talk to her. Together. It’s very possible that she might not make it, so we have to ask our questions soon. The truth can’t be delayed any longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard, in spirit: Vibe check her, Claude.


	28. a place to rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that sexy, sexy S-support theme.

Byleth didn’t remember much of her time on the road. Whether that was due to the frequent travelling and failure to associate memories with the many places they’d been, or for some reason due to her connection with Sothis, she wasn’t entirely sure.

There was one memory, though, that had been recently dredged up out of the deepest recesses of her clouded mind. Lowering herself to the ground in front of her father’s headstone, Byleth draws her knees to her chest and takes a deep, shuddering breath, much like the one she’d taken in her father’s arms after she’d killed for the first time. She’d heard what the others in her father’s mercenary company had said about her. 

_“Didn’t hesitate or bat an eye.”_

_“The kid didn’t even cry afterwards.”_

_“She’s always been like that. So stoic.”_

Perhaps the worst of all, had been the repetitive whispering of the word _“heartless.”_

Byleth knew what the word meant. Unfeeling, cruel, villanous. In the novels she’d read as it was often the antagonist that was described as such. 

As a child, she hadn’t thought much of it. She couldn’t have been heartless, because contrary to popular belief, she did feel things. Slight as they may be, she knew they were there. It was just a matter of not being able to express them, or feel as deeply as everyone seemed to think she should. 

Her father was one of the few people who understood that. He cracked jokes that made her chuckle, made food that would make the right corner of her lips twitch, gave her space when she turned away in anger, and always held her hand when she was scared. 

A heartless person didn’t feel things like that, Byleth had always told herself. 

Byleth places a hand over where Sothis’ heart sits in her chest— a crest stone, not a heart - and thinks about how wrong she’d been. 

To finally hear the truth of it all had been rather bittersweet. The truth she’d so longed to uncover had honestly brought her more hurt than relief, and she had no idea what to make of it. 

The bloody truth behind the crafting of the Hero’s Relics, made from the blood and bones of the slain children of the progenitor god, and forged by those who slither in the dark. 

And Rhea - _Seiros_ \- the last remaining child of the goddess, had placed her mother’s heart inside of Byleth, in the hopes of reuniting with her one day.

What she hadn’t taken into account was her father’s suspicion, and a fear so strong that he’d taken her from the monastery and left all three of them without a clue as to who she was or what she might become. 

“Hey, By.”

She doesn’t turn to look at him, partly because she can’t bring herself to. “Leave me alone, please,” she sighs, hiding her face between her knees. “Claude, just go.” 

He’s too stubborn to ever heed those words, instead taking a seat beside her in the grass. “Not until I know that you’re okay. You ran out of there pretty fast.”

“It was a lot to process.”

It was _more_ knowledge than she’d ever be able to stomach. The truth about Rhea, Seteth, and Flayn. Or more accurately, Seiros, Cichol, and Cethleann. The truth about her father, who she learned carried the Crest of Seiros following a blood transfusion from the saint herself. The truth about her past, and the fact that she’d been stillborn, brought back to life by Rhea’s magic and the heart that had been previously implanted in Sitri’s chest. 

Claude’s hand is suddenly rubbing firm circles on her back. “By, can you take a few deep breaths for me?”

Oh gods, she hadn’t even realized that her breaths had turned into sharp gasps, as if her body was to keep up with the thoughts accelerating through her mind. The tension that had slowly risen throughout her body during the entire conversation had finally spilled over, and Byleth was powerless to contain it.

_The Crest Stone of the progenitor god...dwells within your professor…_

_You, Rhea, Flayn, and I are like family..._

_An infusion of crest-bearing blood that had greatly extended his life..._

_He said he stopped counting after a hundred._

That. That right there might have been what scared her the most. She feels Claude’s arms wrap around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. “You’re okay,” he whispers over and over again. “Hey, you’re alright.”

Was she? Byleth honestly couldn’t tell these days. 

So she lets Claude hold her for a while, lets him whisper sweet nothings in her ear as her panic slows to a dull simmer. She does what he says. Focuses on the gentle brush of the wind through her hair and the smell of the grass, damp from the early morning precipitation. Her ears lock in on the sound of his heart, it’s strong, even beats that drum in his chest. 

“I always wanted to know who I was,” Byleth says quietly. “Now that I know...all I can think about is how different everything could have been if I was just...normal.”

How different could her life had been, if Rhea hadn’t done what she had. Would she have had a normal childhood? Where learning things like arithmetic and poetry had been prioritized over performing the unsavoury tasks of a mercenary in order to make ends meet? Would she have been able to feel deeply and express it properly? Would she have been able to tell her father that she loved him as much as she knew he loved her?

More importantly, how different could her future have been?

“What if I’m like them?” She questions shakily. “What if I’m going to be...long-lived?”

Claude doesn’t say anything, his grip around her tensing momentarily. “Does the thought scare you?” 

“Of course it scares me. Look at Seteth and Flayn. They’ve spent all this time mourning their brethren, hiding their true identities from the world. Even people like Rhea and my father. I’ve seen that lonely look in their eyes. I don’t want to live like that. Mourning my friends and loved ones.”

What kind of life was that? Left wandering the world trapped in a bout of eternal loneliness, outliving every friend, every person you’d ever cared for? That certainly wasn’t ever how Byleth wanted to live. 

“It’s a silly fear. Selfish, even,” she acknowledges, picking at a blade of grass. “So many people would kill for immortality or to be long-lived.” Lysithea, for one, whose time had been stolen from her. Was it even fair of her to think such things of a gift she’d been given?

“It’s not selfish,” Claude says. “Part of living is knowing that it eventually ends, and doing what all that you can with the time you’re given. It’s about creating new dawns and finding your purpose. We wouldn’t have much motivation to do that if we knew we had an infinite amount of time. It’s why we do what we can to make our mark on history.”

“But what’s the point of making new dawns and changing the world,” Byleth starts, “if you have no one left to sit back and appreciate it with?”

Claude dips down and plants a soft kiss to the nape of her neck. “I told you once that no matter who or what you were, you would always have me. And if it’s all true...then all I’m hearing is that we still have a lot of time to try and figure it all out.” 

Byleth just sighs, letting his honeyed words soothe her anxieties - if only temporarily. For now, she’ll enjoy the soft summer breeze against her skin and the feel of Claude’s heart beating in his chest, living enough for the both of them.

**__________**

If anyone had told Byleth that taking a job at the Officer’s Academy would someday result in her facing off against an army of the dead, she would have rolled her eyes.

If they’d told her that the army would be led by Nemesis, she might have actually laughed. 

Yet here she was, covered in mud, blood and other unspeakbable things, and cutting a path towards the King of Liberation himself.

Byleth reaches back once again and pulls on the threads of time and space, watching as the Arrow of Indra thrown by the Fell Hero Fraldarius removes itself from the body of Hilda’s wyvern, and is lifted back into the grey skies. 

“Felix!” She calls over her shoulder once the light reverts back to its original form and the flow of time resets. “I need you to head north towards that group of falcon knights!” She tosses him her bow, and he nods, trudging north towards his ancestor with Annette following closely behind, the Excalibur glyph already on her fingertips. 

After the fell version of Lamine had been defeated, the poisonous swampland had quickly cleared, and the true battle had finally begun. The armies of the living clashed against the army of the dead atop the muddy field, led by the two wielders of the Sword of the Creator. 

What a battle the last hour and something have been. Facing off against the mindless puppets of the 10 Elites had proved nothing but challenging, as they were no ordinary foe. They were ancient warriors and the original wielders of some of the very crests and Hero’s Relics that some of her friends had inherited. 

Byleth was exhausted. Each step she took felt heavier than the last, her sword arm ached with every swing, and her hand was constantly tingling with remnants of magic. It didn’t help that her goddess green hair seemed to attract its own battalion of foes, and everyone seemed more determined to kill her than ever. 

Unfortunately, it seemed that killing the Elites was the only way to get a real shot at their King, so Byleth was going to fight like hell to kill every one of them. According to Claude’s last frantic report, there were only three of them left. 

_Two,_ she quickly corrects as she watches Annette weaken Fraldarius with Excaliber and Felix take advantage of her distraction to finish her off with an arrow through the chest. 

Two Elites left. Byleth could work with that.

But _gods,_ she really wanted to lie down and take a nap. 

She would only get to nap once this battle was over and Fodlan was safe though, a fact she’s rudely reminded of when Charon launches a life-sucking _Death_ spell at her. Byleth twists to the side, quite narrowly dodging the blast of ghastly purple magic. 

Her cloak gets singed, and as the magic eats her way up the yellow threads Byleth yanks it off, tossing it aside and drawing her sword just in time for her blade to catch Thunderbrand before it takes her head off. As they push against each other, Byleth brings her foot up and drives her heel into the mortal savant’s chest, sending him staggering back. She’s about to extend the whip of her sword when he recovers, charging at her with a speed so astounding that Byleth is caught off guard when he tackles her. 

They tumble around in the mud, and Byleth squeezes her eyes shut to avoid impairing her vision. She’d dropped her sword when she’d fallen, and ended up catching the jagged edge of Thunderbrand with her gauntlet clad forearm, cursing when the blade digs into her skin. 

She uses her free hand to summon a bolt of thunder that’s nowhere strong enough to kill him, but just enough to stun him so she can draw her dagger from her belt and move to drive it into his neck, right under his helmet.

When the Elite slumps over her, Byleth uncermoniously shoves him off and rises to her feet. Across from her, Claude buries an arrow into who she assumes is Riegan’s skull. 

The moment Reigan falls, an eerie hush falls over the battlefield. Claude lands beside her, his bow still raised as they both take a cautious look around at the destroyed plains. _“Seiros!”_ A loud, gravelly voice bellows from somewhere within the fog. _“I will kill you!”_

Byleth had never before seen a warrior as large and physically imposing as the Fell King Nemesis. He slowly walks towards them, the ground seeming to tremor with each step he takes. Whatever soldier he finds in his path is swatted back like a fly, whether they’re part of the living or the dead. 

“So that’s Nemesis,” Claude snickers beside her. He cups his hand around his mouth and yells across the field, “You’re a crusty old bastard, you know that?” 

Nemesis snarls in response and unsheathes his sword, his slow tread turning into a sprint and calling upon his battalion of undead.

As Byleth grits her teeth and digs her heels into the mud, Claude loosely elbows her in the ribs. “Now it’s a real party, eh, Teach?”

Sometimes, just _sometimes,_ Byleth wanted to punch Claude in that damn mouth of his.

**__________**

When Nemesis _finally_ falls due to the combined efforts of the Sword of the Creator and Failnaught - or as Claude calls them, the strength of friendship and opening their true hearts to one another - the giant once known as the King of Liberation and his army disintegrate to dust beneath Byleth’s feet. Sometimes all it takes is a surprise arrow and a motivational yet sappy spiel about friendship.

The combined forces of the Alliance and Church of Seiros cheer as Byleth sheathes her sword, turning to see Claude striding towards her. His clothes are bloody and he’s trying to hide his limp, but the smile on his face is genuine and full of pride. “We did it, my friend.”

Despite her own injuries and incredible exhaustion, Byleth’s blood hums beneath her skin, butterflies erupting in her stomach. “We did,” she can’t help but smile back, soaking in the feeling of the warm sun on her skin. “It’s over.”

“Future historians will refer to this day as the new dawn of Fodlan. Of that, I have no doubt.” He holds his hand out, and Byleth places her hand in his. He grips it tightly, and the sparkle she sees when he meets his gaze is undeniable. 

Byleth recognizes that sparkle. It’s the one that often indicates that he’s got some trick up his sleeve.

He pulls her into him, crushing their mouths together as his free hand winds into the tangled, mud-caked tresses of her hair to keep her from pulling back in shock. Her initial return of the kiss was hesitant in the presence of so many of their soldiers, and she could hear Flayn gasping, Sylvain whooping, and Yuri snickering somewhere behind her.

When she presses her hand against his chest and feels the wild beating of his heart, Byleth could hardly find it in herself to care about who’s watching, and returns his kiss with greater urgency, her hands pressed firmly against his chest. Their kisses deepen, the intensity growing slowly between them like a blazing wildfire ignited from a lone spark, tasting faintly of blood and sweat.

They stop only when Seteth clears his throat, reminding them of ‘propriety.’

Claude reluctantly pulls away, one hand gripping her waist as he rests her forehead against hers, pressing a gentle kiss atop of the bruise that Nemesis had left on her cheek. “Our mark on history, By,” he whispers, so only she hears. “It’s all up to you and me now.”

**__________**

There are things that Hilda knows she’s good at. Dressing cute, cheerleading, and sometimes swinging a big axe around are amongst her many strengths. She only has one weakness that she’ll sometimes acknowledge. 

She was a little terrible at keeping secrets. Just a teeny tiny smidge bad at it.

But when she’d found out that Claude was planning to propose to the woman that was their former professor, current army general, acting Archbishop, and future duchess, she was going to try her damndest to keep her mouth shut. Who didn’t love a surprise super cute romantic proposal?

Hilda was determined to keep it a secret, but it’s just _so hard_ when said former professor, current army general, acting archbishop and future duchess seems to see through her every act, and seems to have eyes everywhere.

“Hilda,” the very woman calls, knocking on her door. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

Groaning, Hilda rolls out of bed and opens the door a crack. “Hi, Professor, how’d you know I’d be here?”

“There’s an hour before lunch,” she blinks. “And this is your room. You’re in here taking your pre-lunch nap.”

Looking back at the mess of quilts laying across her bed, Hilda realizes that she can’t even lie. Man, she really did have to stop living her life out loud, didn’t she? “Which you happen to be disturbing. What brings you to my humble abode?”

The professor produces a piece of paper and a quill from behind her back, looking as if she’s ready to take notes. “While I do make it a habit to remain regularly informed on business conducted within the monastery, I know that there are a fair amount of...pettier things, that I’m often not made aware of. You, however, seem to constantly be up to date on such things.”

Hilda had never been called a gossip in such a professional way. She’d have to use that more often. “Uh, what kind of things did you want to know about?”

The professor clears her throat a few times, looking wildly uncomfortable in Hilda’s doorway. “Lysithea keeps giggling whenever Claude and I walk by her. Dorothea keeps winking at me in the dining hall. Not to mention Sylvain keeps asking me when he’s going to get the ‘STD,’ which makes me wonder if I need to talk to Ingrid and hold an impromptu seminar on sexual education before everyone returns home. Tell me, Hilda, am I part of some joke that I’m not aware of?”

It seemed that _everyone else_ had to stop living their own lives out loud as well. 

“Oh, it’s nothing, Professor. Nothing to worry yourself about,” she waves off. “Shouldn’t you just be happy that our little baby Lysithea is happy? That she’s ditched the serious act and is finding joy in life?”

The professor shifts her weight from one foot to another. “I...I suppose.” 

“And Dorothea? She’s always hanging around the goddess tower looking for love, and it’s always super windy up there. Maybe she had something in her eye?”

“Well, I don’t think—”

“Don’t even get me _started_ on Sylvain. We all knew it was a matter of time, and Ingrid will make sure he gets it taken care of.” 

“Yes, but shouldn’t I—”

“The war is over, Professor. Nemesis is dead and somehow Claude has become the leader of Fodlan. It’s time for you to stop worrying about everyone else and take care of you for a change.” Hilda gives her shoulder a light shove back into the hall. “Go to the sauna, have a steam, then get some lunch! Bask in the glory of our victory and wake me when it’s time to eat!” 

Before she can inevitably protest, Hilda slams the door in her face, praying to the goddess that she doesn’t kick it down. Luckily, the professor sighs rather loudly, and Hilda hears her footsteps retreat down the hall. 

Not willing to take any chances, Hilda rushes across the room and pries her window open, and it’s with great effort that she pulls herself up over the ledge, and in a move devoid of her usual grace, she tumbles out and lands in a pile of shrubs. 

She had to find Claude - and she had to find him fast.

Hilda feels like an assassin as she limps through the bushes, ducking under the leaves and somersalting when the professor walks by her. When she finally spots Claude, who looks like he’s about to call out to Byleth, Hilda pounces, sealing her hand over his mouth and dragging him back. 

He yanks her hand off, staring up at her with panicked green eyes. “Hilda?! What the—”

“Shh!” She hisses, pressing a finger to his lips and peeking around the corner to make sure the professor is out of sight. “We have an emergency!”

“What could possibly be wrong now?” He questions, flopping back into the grass rather dramatically. “We’ve defeated the Empire, destroyed the secret base of an evil underground society, and on top of that we crushed the ancient King of Liberation into the dust.”

With a sigh and a slight shake of her head, Hilda pats the top of his head. “Something much, much, worse. The professor is onto you. Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest have been dropping hints about you proposing like crazy! They’re going to ruin the surprise!” 

If Claude is in any way alarmed, he does an amazing job at hiding it. “Are they now? I wonder whose fault that might be...”

Neither of them say anything, but they both know it’s hers. So maybe she did suck at keeping secrets. The professor was technically the only one who couldn’t know, and Hilda didn’t tell _her._

“We can find someone to blame later. You need to get that ring onto her finger before she figures it out. Proposals aren’t as magical when you’re expecting them and begin fantasizing about the moment in your head.” 

Claude rubs a gloved hand down his face. “She’s busy, Hilda. We both are. Fódlan isn’t going to rebuild itself—”

Maybe he just needed a little motivation. 

“I did hear that Yuri was looking to settle down after the war…” It was with Constance, but Claude doesn’t seem to know that, scrambling back up to his feet and huffing. 

“Just make sure Byleth meets me at the goddess tower in an hour. Make sure she’s occupied, but not distracted.”

**__________**

Keep the professor busy and undistracted for an hour. The task seemed simple enough. 

For some reason Hilda had forgotten that the woman of Claude’s dreams was no ordinary woman. No, this was their former professor, current army general, acting Archbishop, and future duchess. She seemed to be everywhere at once, and everyone wanted her attention. It seemed to be a terribly exhausting ordeal. Hilda was tired from just watching her attempt to please each and every person who came to her. 

But Hilda, keen on completing the one thing Claude had tasked her with, wasn’t going to let anyone distract their poor, overworked future duchess today. She had years of work ahead of her, she was marrying _Claude_ after all.

So she watches carefully as the professor eats a quick lunch, eyes glued to the reports in her hand as she slowly stirs her bowl of soup with the other.

Hilda takes a bite of her apple, thinking about how incredibly boring this was. She was currently watching the most powerful woman in all of Fodlan do _paperwork._

Well, at least she was occupied. Hilda was going to make sure it stayed that way. 

Hilda is in the midst of daydreaming about the types of festivities their wedding would surely involve when a flash of a teal cloak enters the dining hall, its wearer catching her eye. 

_Oh no._

Now, Hilda knew the professor wasn’t an easy person to waylay in her tasks, but if there was one sure way to distract the professor for _hours,_ it was with a silver sword and good spar. If there was one person who _would_ and could offer up that challenging of a fight, it was Faerghus’ ever scowling swordsman, Felix Fraldarius. 

Felix Hugo Fraldarius, who looks determined as ever to get in one last bout against his greatest opponent before heading back up to the cold, gross north. “Felix!” Hilda chirps brightly, quickly blocking his path.

“What do you want?” He groans, trying to step around her. “Move. Now.”

Not even a ‘please’ or an ‘excuse me.’ The Faerghan nobility were interesting creatures. “Do you know what I heard?” She asks with an innocent bat of her lashes. 

Felix, who had never been lured in by her cloying sweetness, rolls his eyes at her. “I don’t care--”

“Are you sure about that? Because a little birdy told me that Sylvain was seen hitting on Annette.”

Again, not entirely true - and she hoped Sylvain was armed - but she was doing what needed to be done. As expected, Felix turns on his heel, stomping towards the exit and muttering something obscene as he unsheathes his sword.

Dropping down into a nearby chair, Hilda watches him go with a yawn, stretching her arms above her head in quiet triumph as Byleth remains unbothered at the table over. Secret keeping might be a weakness of hers, but stirring up trouble for the goodness of Fodlan would forever make up for it. 

She intercepts the next few potential distractions with ease. When Ingrid comes to ask about aviary battalions, all it takes from Hilda is a quick question about if Sylvain’s asked her about the ‘STD’ to send her away, red-faced and cursing. When Lorenzs shows up to ask something political that bores Hilda with the mere explanation, a whisper of Sylvain mentioning how pretentious he is ends up being all it takes to drive him off, ranting something about...silky bearings?

The only person who somehow manages to evade her near flawless tactics ends up being Seteth, who although looks extremely pained at the off-handed comment of Flayn sneaking off with a certain redheaded philanderer, presses on and manages to steal the professor away for what he claimed to be off ‘utter importance.’

Well, all she could do now was hope that Sylvain was armed, and later thank him for his sacrifice. 

**__________**

“Wow, due to the unsavoury bunch of male specimen around here, I’m not usually inclined to be polite or heterosexual, but even I have to admit that you clean up nicely.” 

Well, that might be the nicest thing Dorothea’s ever said to him. “Oh, thanks...I think,” Claude says, turning away from the mirror and letting the songstress straighten his collar. “Did Hilda send you?”

Dorothea hums in confirmation, picking up a nearby comb and attempting to tame the mess of hair atop his head. “She might have mentioned something about the future of Fodlan hanging on this very event. Something about how we would all be doomed to witness your pitiful wallowing if the professor should reject your advances.”

Well, he would be incredibly upset if Byleth were to say no, but if the heated victory kiss they’d shared on the battlefield just yesterday were any indicator, he didn’t think crushing rejection would be an issue.

If it weren’t an issue though, why was his stomach lurching, his heart hammering against his ribcage, and his hands feeling clammy as they clutched at his bouncing knee? Why was he still _so damn nervous?_

Dorothea starts humming a little tune she’d written for the opera she currently had in the works, and though he knows it’s meant to be soothing, it only serves to mount more pressure upon his shoulders. The ring in his pocket burned, its presence demanding to be acknowledged as thoughts stumbled around in his mind. 

With this ring, he wasn’t only asking for her. Unbeknownst to Byleth herself and the lot of their friends, he would also be handing her a country, and asking for her to lead it.

No pressure. None at all.

**__________**

It’s rare for Claude to be rendered speechless. He always has something to say, and always knows exactly when to say it. This was certainly a precarious situation, because ho did one propose marriage and crown a monarch within a single conversation? There weren’t enough books in the world to enlighten him on the correct way to go about it. 

He’d been practicing his proposal for nearly an hour, built it from the ground up to ensure nothing was left unsaid, and that nothing would be miscommunicated. 

However, as he stands before Byleth in the Goddess Tower, he finds himself devoid of any articulate thought. His mind had quickly become cluttered again, and he felt like a blathering fool as he thanked her for coming. 

She doesn’t reply right away, her lips pressed in a tight line and barely curling upwards for a fleeting half-second before dipping downwards. “Are you okay?” He asks, noting how unusually pale she seemed, which said a lot considering her natural tone of alabaster. 

“I’m...fine,” she says in a matter that makes it clear to him she’s anything but, her brows furrowing. “I just spoke to Seteth and Rhea about something rather…interesting.” 

She’s distracted, and it only serves to distract Claude further. Perhaps it’d been about Rhea officially appointing her as leader of the Church? They’d discussed telling Byleth together, but leave it to Rhea to do things without his permission. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Byleth opens her mouth, but when she meets his eye, she immediately shuts it. “No. We can talk about it later. Hilda mentioned that you had something urgent to report?” She gifts him an encouraging smile that doesn’t quite mask the worry in her eyes.

Claude is about to protest that it can wait when she grabs his hand. “Claude, I’m fine, really. What did you want to say to me?”

He chooses to take her word for it but keeps a close eye on her as he proceeds with his proposal. He talks about the dreams he’d shared with her, of Fodlan being a single, united land that opens its borders to outsiders and everyone is treated as equals. He talks about going _home._

“The coronation ceremony is the first step. I’m sorry I won’t be by your side at such an important event, but I’m certain you’ll do great.”

The worry behind those verdant green eyes quickly turns into confusion. “Claude, you can’t not come to your own coronation. Who will I put a crown on?”

“Yourself,” he tells her with a sly smile.

She doesn’t quite catch his meaning at first. “Why would I…” There’s a sharp intake of breath. “Claude, you can’t possibly mean-- I can’t be a ruler.” 

“You didn’t think you could be a professor either,’ he gestures to himself, “but look at how well your students turned out. You made us into who we’ve all become. You didn’t think you could be major general either, but Byleth, you broke the five year stalemate and brought down the emperor and the Fell King. They’re even calling you the Hero of Fódlan.”

“Claude…” she hesitates, “I don’t know if—” 

“You’ll be a leader that all who are struggling in war torn lands can look up to. And I...I want a ruler who can lay down a new set of values for the people. Values who don’t exclude anyone for being different. Please, By, you’re the only one I can trust to do this.” 

The only one he’d ever intended on having do it, if he were being honest. Ever since the war had ended and he realized that his dream was within reach, he’d always known it meant leaving, and choosing someone other than himself to lead this land.

“I won’t let you down,” Byleth nods slowly, though not without an edge of something he can’t quite decipher in her strained smile, her face a little paler than before. Claude supposed it was natural for her to be nervous after accepting such a daunting request. He’d soothe her anxieties later. 

He slips his hand into his pocket, his fingers shakily closing around his mother’s ring. Now for the hard part. “On that note...I have something else to-- Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” 

Byleth suddenly begins swaying unsteadily on her feet, all colour draining from her face as she reaches for him. She took a single, staggering step forward before crumbling into his arms. 

Claude is caught wholly off guard, stumbling back a few steps before carefully lowering her onto the ground. He lowers an ear to her lips, and can barely make out the sound of her shallow breaths over the frantic beating of his own heart. 

He barely has time to process what’s happened when Seteth appears at the top of the stairs, his hair and robes disheveled, chest heaving as if he’d run all the way there. “It’s Lady Rhea,” he pants heavily, eyes moving to Byleth’s unmoving form. “She’s dead.”

**__________**

When a spellcaster dies, it’s common knowledge to know that their magic tends to die with them. 

Magic, Claude had recently learned, had been used to bring a stillborn baby back to life. Magic had been used to remove the crest stone from Sitri Eisner’s chest and attach it to her daughter’s unbeating heart. Magic, Claude learned, was what had kept Byleth alive all these years. 

So why hadn’t Claude seen this coming? Jeralt Eisner had once praised him for always thinking five steps ahead. Their last battle had only ended yesterday, was his tactical prowess already succumbing to the comforts of peaceful times?

The Archbishop of the Church of Seiros, Lady Rhea, Saint Seiros herself, had succumbed to the wounds she’d sustained at Shambala and died in her sleep two days ago. Being as powerful as she was, her magic seemed to take a little longer to disappear from the world. 

But Claude had been informed various times that her magic would eventually disappear, and when that happened, Byleth would die.

Byleth, his beloved Teach, esteemed general, and best friend would _die._

Claude wasn’t going to sit back and just _let_ that happen. No, he’d fight like hell to ensure that it wouldn’t, because Byleth wasn’t supposed to die. It wasn’t part of the plan. Byleth Eisner played an integral role in achieving his new dawn.

So no, she would _not_ be dying, Claude reminded himself. 

He’d spent the last two days locked in the monastery’s library, the desks piled high with books and journals, tomes and ancient texts he’d pulled from Abyss. He was looking, searching desperately for something he could use.

He can hear his friends whispering outside - as they had been for two days now - arguing about who to send inside to talk some sense into him. 

Claude ignored them, flipping another page as his eyes scanned through its contents. They’d given up already, but Claude hadn’t. He had to keep searching. 

The door to the library creaks open, hesitant footsteps stepping through. Claude doesn’t look up or turn around. “Hilda, if you’re not here to pick up a book and help me search, you should just leave.”

“Duke Riegan. Might I have a word?”

That voice does give Claude pause. It’s not Hilda who’s come to talk to him, it’s Seteth. “Make it quick.” Seteth takes a seat across from him, and though he keeps reading, he’s well aware of the green eyes following his every move. “Well?”

“You must stop this nonsense,” he says, not unkindly.

“No.”

“There’s nothing you can do, Claude. Marianne and Manuela have tried everything, countless herbs and potions and medicines. Rhea was the only one to conduct such experiments, you’ll find no cure for this type of ailment. Even Flayn-- _Cethleann_ can’t do anything.”

He swallows thickly at the drop of the Saint’s name, aware of the implication behind it. If the saint of faith magic and healing can’t fix her, it’s unlikely she can ever be fixed.

“I can’t just let her die,” Claude swallows, the words hurting as much as the thought. “She deserves more effort than that. Byleth is so strong. If she could just hold on a little longer--” 

“This isn’t something that she can fight,” the advisor admits almost too quietly, the grim expression on his tired face only accentuated in the dying candlelight. “As strong as she is, she’s going to need you for this next part. You cannot avoid her forever, as she cannot avoid fate.”

 _This isn’t fate!_ Claude wants to scream. He wants to yell, cry, and most importantly ask the goddess why she seems so intent on stealing away the last pieces of his heart. “I can’t face her. I can’t, it’s too hard.”

Something akin to sympathy flashes across Seteth’s features. “She will not rest easy if she does not know that you are okay.”

The thought of Byleth resting easy sounds dangerously close to blasphemy in Claude’s books. “But I’m _not_ okay.”

“Then you lie. The professor... _Byleth_ has done so much for you. More than anyone would deem necessary. We all know that she’s only held on this long for you. She needs...she needs to know that it’s okay for her to rest, and you need to be there when she does. If you aren’t...the guilt of your absence will weigh heavy on your heart.”

**__________**

It’s with great difficulty that Claude heeds Seteth’s advice. His heavy feet take him across the second floor and to the infirmary, where Byleth has been resting since she’d passed out in the Goddess Tower. He stands frozen at the door, too afraid to even knock. Too ashamed to face her without presenting a solution. 

But the door opens, revealing a more sullen than usual Marianne, whose eyes are red and puffy. “Oh, Claude,” she sniffs, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. “It’s...good of you to finally come. She’s been asking for you.”

All he can reply with is a nod. Two days. He’d neglected her for two days. 

“Claude?”

When he hears her voice, his heart breaks at how weak it sounds, and when Marianne moves out of the room to give them some privacy, Claude is across the room in a flash, dropping to his knees at her bedside. 

Byleth is paler than a sheet of parchment, her lips and cheeks having lost their rosy tint. Her eyes, wide and curious and sparkling, have dulled, remaining half-shut despite her efforts to open them. This is not Byleth Eisner, mercenary turned professor turned Hero of Fodlan. 

This is the dying vessel of the goddess Sothis. 

Byleth, his guiding star, was dying.

“You’re here,” she says, her lips curling into the smallest smile, nowhere near as dazzling and bright as he’d grown used to. 

With trembling hands, Claude removes his gloves and reaches out to take one of her hands. Hers are calloused, strong, and scarred, yet still so soft. “I’m sorry I haven’t been.” When he finally gains the courage to meet her eyes, the words tumble out of his mouth on their own accord. “I’m so sorry, By. I tried to—” 

The light squeeze of her hand stops him. “You’re here now. That’s all I ever needed...from you.” It’s all she may need, but Claude knows that she deserves more. “It’s okay, Claude. It’s not your fault.”

He doesn’t answer. _Can’t_ answer.

“Can we go outside?” She requests softly. “I want to see...the stars.”

Who was he to deny her? She hadn’t gone outside in the last two days, and neither had he. “Do you want me to carry you?”

“Yes, please,” she smiles, his arms already sliding under her knees and around her shoulders. “So strong,” Byleth murmurs against the fabric of his shirt. Byleth, who despised being carried, was so weak that she’d had no choice but to accept the offer.

Claude doesn’t go too far, going out onto Rhea’s Star Terrace and lowering himself onto the ground, Byleth leaning against his chest. They’d almost shared their first kiss out here, not too long ago. They’d discussed his dream, and she’d sworn to help him achieve it.

The sky is beautifully clear tonight, and when he looks up, he sees that the moon had taken the shape of a waning crescent tonight, and not far from it resides the bright and brilliant Blue Sea Star that’d emerged a mere few months ago. In any other scenario, Claude would have thought this a beautiful night. Warm winds blow, carrying with them the rustle of leaves and the chirping of crickets. 

“Talk to me...Claude,” Byleth requests, her voice so painfully small that it’s nearly carried away by the breeze. “I want to...hear your voice.”

He’d much rather hear her voice, hoarse as it may be, but tonight isn’t about him and what he wants. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“What are we going to do tomorrow? Now that we rule Fódlan?”

His chest twists at the mere thought of tomorrow, knowing what’s to come. The feeling of impending dread threatens to choke him, but he forces it back down, more or less clinging to Byleth like his own lifeline. He tries to answer the question to the best of his abilities, before his voice can give out.

“There are...things that I have to do first, but the second that I’m done, you know what we’re going to do? We’re going to take a vacation.”

“A...vacation?”

“That’s right,” he nods against the top of her head. “Just you and me. We’ll leave Fodlan in the capable hands of our friends and see the world. Our first stop will be Morfis, where we’ll learn all kinds of magic. Hexes, spells, potions, everything.”

Byleth trembles against him, each soft laugh acting as a new knife plunged deep into his heart and twisting. “You’re terrible...at magic. You almost gave...yourself frostbite once.”

He can’t resist the roll of his eyes. Back in the Academy, Marianne and Lysithea had tried (and failed) to teach him a simple Blizzard spell. “You’ll never let me live that one down, will you? Come on, By, anyone can be good at magic in Morfis.” 

She laughs at him again, but it quickly turns into a cough, and Claude rubs her back until it subsides, fear gripping him with each wrack of her body. “At the start of winter, before it gets too cold, we’ll go up to Gautier and visit one of Sylvain’s cabins.” He dips down so his lips brush her ear. “We’ll go out and see the northern lights each night, and I’ll make love to you in front of a fireplace.”

He swears her cheeks regain some of their natural colour at his lewd intentions. “You would dare defile the Queen of United Fódlan?”

“As many times as I can.”

“...You’re insufferable.”

It was nice to escape with her like this, if only to bring them momentary comfort. “Only for you, By.”

She closes her eyes, nodding against his chest, wincing as if his words hurt. “What’s after Gautier?”

Claude knew exactly where they would go next. “Once it gets too cold, we’ll go to Brigid.”

Her lips twitch into a playful smile. “For Ashe and Petra’s wedding?”

“Ha! You’re right,” he realizes with a laugh. “I reckon he’s already tied to the back of her wyvern, prepped for transport.”

“He’s going to...propose first,” Byleth coughs. “It’s in...his books. The knight proposing...to the princess. It’ll be very romantic.” 

His Teach, ever the romantic one. “Well, either way there’s going to be a wedding, and after that we’ll spend days on the beach. Just you, me, and the sand.”

“I’ll burn,” she frowns. 

“Then I’ll gladly rub aloe all over you,” he chuckles, fingers skimming along the porcelain white of her neck. “I always thought you could use a little more colour.” 

“Brat,” she barely manages to get out. Her breaths turn dangerously shallow, her chest rising and falling with a greater amount of effort and exertion. Claude does his best to hold back the tears that sting at the back of his eyes.

So Claude pulls her closer, as if holding her tightly in his arms would solve their every problem. “We’ll end our trip...in Almyra.” Byleth stays silent, the sounds of her laboured breathing almost too much for him to hear. “I’ll show you all the best sights. The hidden hot springs and sprawling canyons. I’ll even take you to the night market, where the food-- oh, By, the _food.”_

“Better...than the Spice Festival?”

“Infinitely better,” he confirms. “And when we’re done sight-seeing, you’re going to...meet my parents.” Byleth takes a deep, shuddering breath at that, her hand closing around the fabric of his shirt. “You’ll drink with my dad and probably spar against my mom. Maybe even kick Nader’s ass a few more times. The three of them will tell you about all kinds of trouble I got up to as a kid.” 

“I’ll have...some stories of my own,” she chuckles weakly.

“Ah, I’m sure you do. My mother will twist my ear off when she hears that I gave my professor a hard time.”

“And your dad...will drag you behind his horse?”

“He just might,” Claude mutters, in slight awe that she’d even remembered that story. “But you know what, By? They’re going to love you.” His voice breaks at that last revelation, because Claude knows that without a doubt, his parents would endlessly approve of a daughter-in-law like her. If only they’d get the chance…

“There’s one more thing that I want you to know about Almyra,” Claude adds slowly. “Byleth, you’re going to be it’s queen.” He slides the ring onto her finger, it’s fit snug and shining against her skin. 

She gasps lightly, running her thumb over the emerald inlaid into the band with a gentleness that Claude had become so familiar with. This mercenary, rough and tough and emotionless as she might have been, was always so gentle with the things she loved. 

“Claude,” she whispers, her voice strained with emotion. “Don’t...waste this on me.”

The thought of her seeing it as wasted broke his heart. “There is no one that I would rather have wear this. I love you, with everything that I am.” 

She squeezes her eyes shut as her eyes begin to shine with tears. “I love you too,” she whispers back, a lone tear sliding down her cheek. Claude leans down to press his forehead against hers, gently kissing the tip of her nose. “It’s not fair,” she chokes, her bottom lip quivering. “I don’t want to go, Claude.”

It isn’t fair. A few weeks ago she’d feared the thought of being long-lived and existing in a world without her loved ones, yet here she lay on death’s door due to some wretched technicality. 

How the tables have turned. For him to be forced to live in a world without her… “I know it’s not,” he agrees, her words a crack in the dam holding back his emotions.

They sit quietly for a few moments. Silence had never been awkward between them, but tonight the air around them is heavy with despair and the melancholy of their ‘i love you’s,’ both of them well aware of the possibility of it being their last. 

Byleth’s breathing evens out slightly, but with each fall of her chest, it takes longer for it to rise again. “I think...I’m going to take a nap,” she breathes quietly, clutching his hand with oddly renewed strength. “I’m so tired.”

This was it, Claude realizes with a sharp pain in his chest. The moment Seteth had warned him about. “You can rest now, By,” he tells her, his thumb brushing the smooth skin of her cool cheek, still wet with her tears. “Your work is done.”

She hums aginst him, her eyes still shut. Claude longs to see those goddess green eyes one last time. “I’m sorry...I won’t be there to...see your...new...dawn.”

Claude can hardly breathe, his voice spilling out of him in a desperate sob. “You were my new dawn.” 

She graces him with one last gentle smile, and her hand squeezes his one last time before its grip slacks, dropping lifelessly into her lap as her chest rises and falls one final time. 

It’s the exact moment that Claude’s heart _shatters,_ and absolutely gut wrenching cries are ripped from his throat as the dam breaks and his sorrow floods the terrace, drowning him in his own despair.

The rest of the Golden Deer emerge to find him hunched over her body, wetting her still face with his tears and asking the goddess _why_. _Why give her back only to take her away again?_ They don’t need to ask, they all know what’s happened. His friends - _their friends -_ stand in the doorway, forced to listen as Claude’s heartbreaking sobs fill the previously quiet night.

Byleth Eisner, the first queen of United Fódlan, his beloved Teach, best friend, and star to his crescent moon, has died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops.
> 
> (also, if you wanna yell at me about this, i made a twitter @abbycordero7 come be my friend!)


	29. one single thread of gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE listen to Emerald Eyes by Anson Seabra. I definitely think it fits the vibe of this chapter, especially the last half.
> 
> This is a long chapter, I know. It fought me tooth and nail, but I truly feel as though it's the epitome of everything I've written for this fic. I'm rarely satisfied with the chapters I write, but I really like this one, so I hope you do too.
> 
> ALSO. My goodness, your response to the last chapter was overwhelming. So many of you had such nice things to say, and I appreciated each comment and thank you all from the bottom of my heart. 
> 
> ps: I was knitting, watching ratatouille, and giggling while reading comments about the tears you shed for poor, poor claudeleth

_“Hey, I’m back. I’ve missed you— and I’ve missed you too. Wait, do you think it has ears yet?”_

_“I’m eight months pregnant, Jeralt. Of course it has ears. Now take those boots off, you heathen, I just swept the floor!”_

_“Alright, alright— hey! Don’t throw things, you just cleaned, remember? And since it has ears now, do you really want the first thing it hears is you nagging on me?”_

_“I wouldn’t have to nag if you stopped acting like you were raised by wolves in the mountains of Faerghus. Now, tell me where Rhea sent you. You’ve only been gone two days, this little one and I hadn’t the time to miss you yet.”_

_“The Great Bridge. Escorted some Church individuals to litigate between Houses Gloucester and Reigan again. Damn fools are too stubborn to reach any consensus on their own. You should have heard the way they—”_

_“My love, as you know that I live vicariously through you, might you perhaps skip past the part concerning such petty noble squabbles? Tell me, was your journey waylaid by bandits or sabotaged by ruffians? Were you forced to storm a stronghold and rescue hostages? Did you draw your lance to slay any demonic beasts?”_

_“...Sometimes it’s like you want misfortune to find me on these missions.”_

_“Well, they do make for quite wonderfully invigorating tea time stories. So won’t you please entertain your bored, pregnant, and bedridden wife?”_

_“Well, I did get into it with some pesky bees when I picked these up for you. I think I might be allergic...”_

_“Oh! Valerian! You silly knight, why didn’t you lead with that? You know how I adore these wonderful blooms. Such simplistic beauty, and such a versatile plant. Are you familiar with its meaning?”_

_“You already know that I’m not. All those old Fodlan words in the book you gave me make my head spin.”_

_“Oh, stop being so dour.”_

“You spend an awful lot of time sleeping.”

Byleth awakens with a jolt, torn from her state of slumber. When her vision starts to refocus, she takes a bleary look around at her surroundings, because when she’d last fallen asleep, she hadn’t been in bed, and she definitely hadn’t been in her room at the monastery.

Jerking up, Byleth straightens immediately, her hand immediately clutching at the empty sheets at her side. “Claude?” 

Her panicked train of thought is derailed by a nostalgic flash of green light. A woman appears at her bedside, her light green eyes glaring down at her. Though Byleth initially reels back in confusion, that look of utter contempt on the woman’s face is undediably familiar. 

“Do I _look_ like that unkempt, scheming, blathering fool?”

Now _that_ sounded familiar. Though spoken in a tamer, significantly less shrill pitch, that sharp wit was unmistakable. Byleth steals another wary glance at her, taking in the green hair adorned with white lilies, and notices that the regalia adorning her body is similar to Rhea’s, along with the tips of pointed ears peek out from behind the white lilies. When it dawns on her, the realization alone is enough to momentarily distract Byleth from her current predicament. 

_Sothis._

It’s Sothis, but this time the version she’d seen the followers of the Church of Seiros worship, and not the child that had floated around nagging her ear off. 

“You look...different,” Byleth breathes, almost reaching out to touch her in awe. “Am I dreaming? Is this a dream?” 

The look on Sothis’ face is of odd amusement. “You’re not dreaming. You’re dead.” 

She’s sure the look on her own face is absolutely priceless. Byleth had never known Sothis to sugarcoat things, but she couldn’t have at least tried to soften that blow? Death isn’t something that one should be blunt about. “I’m— I can’t be—”

Her sputtering is silenced when the goddess waves her hand, and Byleth’s stomach drops the way it does when Lysithea warps her. All of a sudden she’s not in her bed anymore, and is instead falling gracelessly her fall interrupted when her back collides with cool stone.

Byleth rolls onto her side and pushes herself up with a groan, rubbing the back of her head as Sothis warps to her side, snickering in that ever condescending way. “You couldn’t have given me any warning?”

Sothis raises a delicate brow, her face unconcerned for her vessel’s wellbeing. “Your tactless blabbering left little room for me to get one in otherwise. But I didn’t bring you here to complain,” she raises her finger, pointing at something just behind Byleth. “Have a look over there.” 

Huffing, Byleth turns her head to see what Sothis is pointing at. There’s a man hunched over a few feet away. 

Though she can only see his back, Byleth knows exactly who it is. She would know it anywhere. “Claude!” She gasps, staggering to her feet and stumbling towards him…

...Only to run face first into what seems to be a sheet of glass. The area where her face made impact ripples like water before going still again, crystal clear but undeniably there. Byleth shouts Claude’s name again, only for him to ignore her, his attention stuck to whatever rests in his lap.

“Did you not hear what I said?” Sothis scolds as Byleth’s fist pounds on whatever divider rests between them, energy rippling with each impact. “You really are but a boulder that rolls down whatever hill it’s on, aren’t you?” There’s another flash of light, and this time she can see what exactly has Claude’s attention.

He’s hunched over her body. Her pale, unmoving body. Byleth slides to her knees, her face mere inches from Claude’s tear streaked one, his face contorted in such pain and agony that her chest aches, and she longs to reach out and hold him.

“I’m here,” she whispers desperately. “I’m here for you.”

“He can’t hear you,” Sothis says, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Nor can he see you in this form. Your mortal body failed you, and - as I said before - you died. It’s what brought you here to me, on the Blue Sea Star.”

 _The Blue Sea Star._

It all comes back to her in a single, all encompassing wave of gut-wrenching memories. Rhea dying. Passing out in the Goddess Tower. How quick her pathetic body deteriorated. The Star Terrace. Claude. Her. A waning crescent moon accompanied by the Blue Sea Star. Magic in Morfis. Northern lights in Gautier. Beaches in Brigid. Night markets in Almyra. Painful ‘i love you’s’ that they both knew were their last. 

_You can rest now, By._

And then eventually, darkness.

But if there was one thing that Byleth Eisner did not ever do, it was _rest._ No, resting - _dying_ \- was not ever on her agenda and how _dare_ he give her permission to do that. 

“I’ve frozen time down there, but my hold on the flow of time will not last forever,” Sothis explains. “As you and I are one, I wished to speak with you once more before...well, we’ll get to the reasoning later.”

Byleth hardly knows what to make of...all that. “I— Well— Put me back!” She demands, gesturing to where Claude is still frozen in his grief. “Fódlan still needs me. _Claude_ still needs me.”

“I cannot just _put you back,”_ Sothis scoffs, and with another flick of her wrist, Claude disappears from her sight. “It’s really not that simple.”

“You’re the _goddess.”_

Sothis looks as if she’s waiting for her to explain what exactly she means by that. As if she didn’t know that she was meant to be the most powerful being in Fodlan. “And? There are others who have longed to speak with you, you know? Those who didn’t get the chance because that child of Reigan kept you all to himself. He never was really fond of sharing you, was he?” She titters. “Do you recall how adorably jealous he would get when—”

Others? There are others here? “Sothis,” Byleth hisses through tightly clenched teeth. “This is hardly the time to reminisce. What do you mean by—” 

“You didn’t used to be so serious. In fact, you used to be rather fun. What changed?” Sothis interjects, pouting in a very un-godlike way and rolling her eyes. 

“I fought in a war, and immediately after I fought a cult that held a pretty long-lived grudge,” _because of you,_ Byleth consciously decides to bite back. “Both things aren’t known for being very pleasant.”

Sothis turns away momentarily, her eyes shut as she takes a deep breath. She looks...sad. “I know,” she says softly. “But you ended both of those things, and for that, I thank you.”

“No thanks necessary.”She hadn’t really done it for her anyways, she’d done it for Claude.

“That being said, would it kill you to loosen up a little? No pun intended.”

_“Sothis.”_

“Oh, let me have my fun. I’ve missed teasing you.”

Byleth would grab and shake the woman if she weren’t her ticket off this godforsaken star. “Stop deflecting! Why am I here? And what exactly did you mean when you said that there were people who longed to speak with me?”

“Ugh, you always were so impatient. And here I was worried that you’d changed.” Byleth only glares in response until Sothis relents, slumping her shoulders in defeat. “Fine. _Fine,_ why don’t you just see for yourself?”

Another dizzying warp spell catches Byleth off-guard, this time resulting in her falling forward and landing face first in the grass. “Seriously? This is how you want to treat your vessel?” When she’s answered with blissful quiet, Byleth sits up and takes a look around. She looks up and sees the sprawling ivy amongst the sandstone buildings with deep oak doors. Her eye is then drawn to the flashes of Adrestia red, Blaiddyd blue, and golden yellow. 

The Officer’s Academy.

But there are no students around. The courtyard is eerily silent, her only companions being the gentle winds stirring through her hair and oddly enough, carries the scent of bergamot tea. Byleth isn’t sure if this is real, or some sort of big illusion designed with the sole purpose of luring her into a sense of comfort. Why would an exact replica of the Officer’s Academy be here, on the Blue Sea Star?

Since Sothis isn’t around to beat around the bush or deliver a cryptic answer to her silent question, Byleth sighs quite deeply, pushing up onto her feet to find an answer herself. _The grass is certainly real,_ she reports as she sweeps it off her clothing and shakes it out of her hair. 

Byleth decides she’ll start with the Golden Deer classroom. If it truly _is_ her classroom, then there’ll likely be the bottle of Almyran whiskey hiding in the bookshelf. Claude had jokingly gifted it to her on what her father had told him was her twenty-first birthday.

_We’ll share a drink on graduation, Teach._

They never did share that bottle.

She’s sauntering by the bulletin board when a strong gust of magic sweeps by her, and Byleth is momentarily blinded by the flash of light that accompanies it. Byleth peeks one eye open when the brightness behind her lids fades, and sees three strands of magic woven together in front of her. One red, one blue, and one yellow, all three hovering in a slow twist in front of her, their ends splitting off into the three corresponding rooms of the Black Eagles, Blue Lions, and Golden Deer.

In quiet awe, Byleth hesitantly reaches out to touch them, and when her hand passes through the strands, the magic flickers, feeling warm and comfortable as it hums through her veins. It’s feeling is foreign on her fingertips, but familiar to her mind. It courses through her as smoothly and freely as water, contains the power of a raging wildfire, and somehow brings upon her a feeling akin to a cool breeze against flushed skin. It’s Sothis’ magic. The magic of the progenitor god.

The closest thread, the red one, leads into the Black Eagles classroom. As Byleth moves towards the classroom, the sweet notes of bergamot grow stronger, but before Byleth can step over the threshold, Sothis’ voice once again violates the confines of her mind.

_I’d be careful if I were you._

Byleth ignores the goddess, and the second that she steps into the room, it’s like a rug has been swept out from under her feet, and she’s suddenly falling. Fear grips her, the plummeting sensation all too similar to the fall that had stolen five years of her life. 

Panicking, it feels as though Byleth’s stomach has jumped up into her throat and she flails wildly, reaching for something to grab on to-- anything to slow her descent. All around her, colours swirl and blend together in a dizzying mix, reverting back and forth as if she’d rewound time. The impact is sudden and for some odd reason, painless, even as her vision fades to black, and darkness swallows her.

_I hate to say it, but I told you so._

**__________**

“Professor, can you stand?”

She’s laying atop of bloodstained cobblestone, her head pounding as she forces her eyes open. Byleth uses the collar of her red cloak to wipe a grisly combination of blood and sweat from her vision, blinking a few times to refocus on her surroundings. 

Even through the nauseating stench of death and the thick wafts of smoke, the humidity clinging to the saltwater air is unmistakable. 

A white glove enters her view, and Byleth reaches up and takes it without hesitation, letting Hubert haul her back onto her feet, and thrust a bow into her hands. Alarmed by a screech from above, her hands work almost automatically, notching an arrow and taking aim at a circling wyvern.

A few feet away, Edelgard crushes the skull of an Alliance soldier with her axe. “That flag and banner,” she growls, slicing through the wing of a swooping wyvern. “It’s the Almyran army. Ugh, you really did it, Claude!”

Claude. The name gives her pause for some reason, and the arrow she releases is a second too late. She’d hardly spoken to the Golden Deer leader throughout their year at the academy, why did his name make her hesitate so?

Byleth fires another arrow, and this time her aim is true, sending the wyvern and its rider down in a spiral. “Those Almyran wyvern and their riders are proving to be quite the thorn in our side,” Hubert grunts beside her. “They are being led by Nader, a famed Almyran general.” Byleth watches as said Almyran general roars with pride, dropping down upon a battalion of their soldiers. “Come, Professor,” Hubert instructs. “Let us dispose of them quickly. Claude is occupying the naval port.”

Byleth doesn’t hesitate this time, standing back to back with the Emperor and her liege as they cut a path through the Aquatic Capital. They make it to the naval port in record time, Byleth and Hubert flanking Edelgard as she cuts through a battalion of archers to get them across the bridge. 

Claude is a blur of movement, the very epitome of speed and agility as he maneuvers flawlessly around the port. Taking advantage of his distance and height, he rains arrows down on their soldiers, his Relic gleaming under the harsh rays of sunlight. Even as she fights on the ground, Byleth can’t take her eyes off him. 

“Professor!” Hubert shouts, yanking her sideways. Where she’d stood just a split second earlier, an arrow pulsing with magic has embedded itself into the ground. Byleth looks up at the archer, and Claude sends her a two-fingered salute.

“Teach.” He lowers his bow, and even from a distance Byleth can see the way his lips twitch upwards. He’d have never fired that arrow if he’d known he would miss. He was just trying to get her attention. 

How Byleth knows that, she isn’t sure. “Claude,” she replies, waving a hand over her shoulder to tell Hubert to back off. “It’s fine. Cover me?” she asks, and though he still looks suspicious, he diverts his magic elsewhere as Edelgard chucks a few tomahawks at Nader.

Claude guides his wyvern lower, a safe distance away from the edge of the port so he can still shoot her if necessary, but close enough so they can converse. His eyes are assessing, reading her movements and watching for any signs of aggression. She isn’t sure why, but his unease around her stings.

“You should have chosen me instead of Edelgard.” 

“I’m where I need to be, Claude. Where I chose to be.” Though the words roll easily off her tongue, they feel...almost wrong. “The city has already fallen. Call off your troops, Alliance and Almyran. No need for anymore pointless deaths.”

“Pointless deaths?” He repeats incredulously. “Should have thought of that before you and Edelgard launched the entire country into a war.”

“It was a carefully calculated decision. These sacrifices will allow us to create a future where we never need to sacrifice again,” she says, quoting what Edelgard had told her before they’d invaded Garreg Mach.

Claude looks at her as if she’d sprouted two wings and turned into a dragon. “She really has gotten in your head, hasn’t she?” When Byleth doesn’t answer, he scoffs and shakes his head. “Alright, no point in whining about it now, I suppose.” He lifts his bow again, and Byleth raises her own. “We could have been great together, Teach. I’m sure we have a lot to talk about, but how about we settle things first?”

Finally, something she can agree with. Byleth isn’t even sure why she’d even stopped to talk to him in the first place. If he were anyone else, she’d have shot three arrows into their chest before they could say ‘Teach.’ 

But she hadn’t, because for some reason Claude had been exempt from her usual methods. Hubert launches a mass of purple magic over her shoulder, and when his wyvern rolls to avoid it, Byleth takes advantage of the distraction and sinks an arrow into the delicate webbing of its wing. 

Its pained cry makes Byleth’s blood curl as she watches its broad white wings flail wildly. Claude tries to steady her, but before he can, Petra and her falicorn come out of nowhere, the tip of her lance skewering the wyvern’s flank. There’s no steadying her this time, and the wyvern’s panic sends them both into a nosedive, landing on the port with a strangled cry. 

Ignoring Hubert’s satisfied chuckle, Byleth’s feet carry her over the countless bodies littering the port, immediately dropping to her knees at Claude’s side. He’s likely broken a lot of bones in the fall, and what hadn’t been broken upon impact had probably been crushed under the body of his wyvern.

“You’re hurt,” she reports. Byleth tentatively holds her hands over his shoulder, faith magic lingering at her fingertips and hesitating, wondering if she should.

He grins at her, a choked laugh slipping past his lips. “Yeah? And has the angel of death come to claim my soul?”

Byleth is about to say no, because there was no way she-- they could kill Claude. He was too valuable of a man. 

“Kill him,” Hubert urges calmly, holding a dagger over her shoulder. “Kill him, Professor.”

Without a second thought, Byleth grabs the handle and twists it between her fingers, the blade angled at Claude’s throat. He swallows, his Adam’s apple pressing against the silver. “If you’re as smart as you seem, I bet you’ve figured out why I was able to summon Almyran reinforcements. Wouldn’t it be better to let me go and have me in your debt?”

“Enough talk,” Hubert snarls behind her. “Professor, if you do not kill him now, the faction of the Alliance that supports him will continue to rebel. It is simply what must be done.”

Byleth stills her hand. Hubert is right - he usually is - and as easy as it is for Byleth to follow orders, she can’t seem to bring herself to do this. “Hubert…”

_“Do it.”_

The tip of the dagger breaks his skin, but Claude’s smile only grows wider. “Call off your troops,” she demands. 

“You know I can’t do that, Teach.”

 _“Kill him,”_ Hubert orders.

“Yield,” she growls forcefully.

“Won’t do it. I guess you could say I don’t know when to give up.”

_“Kill him now, Professor!”_

Her grip around the handle of the dagger tightens. “Claude, don’t make me do this.”

“Seems like you don’t have a choice, my friend,” he coughs, gesturing around them. “Right until the very end, I’ve read this whole thing terribly wrong...All my hopes have fallen to ash…” Claude tilts his head back, quickly dulling emerald eyes staring up at the greyed Derdriu skies. 

She isn’t sure why completing this particular task is so difficult. She’d never hesitated like this before, even as a mercenary. She had never been awfully close to Claude, either. Sure he’d stalked her around the monastery during their time in the academy, but they’d never connected on a deep enough level to warrant hesitation.

“I’d rather it be you, Teach,” he insists quietly. “I’d rather your pretty face be the last I see than Hubert’s grouchy one. I may die by that nasty stink eye alone.”

Byleth shakes her head. “You’d be a great asset to the Empire--”

“I dance to the beat of my own drum, that’s always how I’ve worked best,” he refuses. “It’s up to you and Edelgard now, Teach,” he says softly, lifting his hand to press the dagger to his skin once more. “I really hope you make the world better.”

“We will,” Byleth promises, her trembling hand dragging the blade across his throat.

**__________**

When Byleth opens her eyes again, she’s laying on the floor of the Black Eagles classroom, not the streets of Derdriu. Instead of blood, the overwhelming scent of bergamot floods her senses. 

She’s still in the Officer’s Academy. Well, the one of the Blue Sea Star. Whatever that meant.

 _But what the hell was that?_ Instinct is trying to convince her that it was a dream, but it just felt too real. The desperation in Hubert’s voice rang familiar in her mind. Phantom pains lingered on the spots where she’d been struck. The glazed look in Claude’s eyes when she’d...

Byleth shakes her head. No, it couldn’t have been real. She’d never chosen the Black Eagles, and she would _never_ kill Claude. Her confusion is cast aside when pain throbs behind her temples, and when she sits up and takes a bleary look around, she immediately sees that she isn’t alone.

Sitting upon Manuela’s desk, is the house leader of the Black Eagles herself. She almost looks as she did the day they’d crossed paths at Gronder, still dressed in the proud red silks of her uniform.

The only difference is that her hair is _brown,_ and it’s only half done, twisted up into a loose bun on the side of her head while the remainder of her beautiful brown locks lays over her shoulder. She may look different, but those violet eyes are unmistakable. Eyes that had pleaded for her to choose the Black Eagles, glared at her across the plains of Gronder Field, and eventually glistened with tears as she knelt in her throne room. It’s Edelgard, alright.

But _shit_ , that means that she really _is_ dead and Sothis hadn’t been lying to her.

“My teacher,” Edelgard smiles, lowering her cup of tea back onto its saucer. That upwards curve of her lips is so surprising that Byleth can only stare in shock. “I must admit, I’m surprised to see you here. If what Thales said of you was true, you’re not meant to be here for a while.” 

She isn’t surprised that Edelgard knows this. What, with her being the Flame Emperor and all. “I’m...I should be shocked that you’re here. Isn’t this,” Byleth gestures around vaguely, “everything you’re against?”

Edelgard actually _laughs,_ and the sound seems to catch them both off guard. Byleth had never heard the girl so much as chuckle, any hint of amusement always so quickly snuffed out by the arrival of Hubert, or just the tense atmosphere in general.

When the Emperor regains her usual level of composure, she crosses her legs and regards Byleth with an amused glance. “That may be true, but I think I may be here for your sake more than my own,” she admits.

“Why?”

“Don’t you get it? The Blue Sea Star is the heaven that the worshippers of Seiros pray to be accepted into one day. It’s the promised paradise, taking the form of that which they are most comfortable, and everything is the way it’s meant to be.”

If this truly was meant to be her own personal paradise, Claude would be with her. They would be far, far away from here, perhaps a cabin by a lake somewhere in the Oghma with no one around for miles. It’d be just her, Claude, and the three most important F words. Fishing, fucking, and fun. 

She isn’t too sure Edelgard would be there.

Edelgard seems to sense Byleth’s mix of apprehension and confusion, setting her tea down on the desk and folding her hands in her lap. “Well, even if you did not wish to see or speak with me, I certainly wished to speak with you.”

“Why?” Byleth repeats. 

“I feel that I need to explain myself, and my actions. As the victor, I believe that I owe you that much, and you owe it to me to at least hear me out.”

The grim moments within the Imperial palace lingered like a shadow at the back of her mind, dark, ominous, and impossible to be rid of. “Last time I tried to hear you out, you tried to kill me.”

“Ah, but would you have had the resolve to strike me down if I hadn’t? I was losing, and I knew that you nor Claude would have killed me had I not forced your hand. The war would never truly have ended had you spared my life.” Byleth doesn’t answer, mostly because she knows that she’s right.

Edelgard’s expression softens, her smile turning melancholic. “I bear no grudges against either of you, there was never a path that we could have walked together. Rebuilding Fodlan was something I had to do on my own.”

“Claude would have found a way,” Byleth insists, knowing how willing he had been to try, but ultimately leaving the decision to the emperor. “If you had just listened.”

Her expression pinches at the mention of Claude. “No, he couldn’t have. He was always looking to the future, willing to sit back and play the long game. Fodlan required immediate change.”

“But you wanted to uproot the entire system,” Byleth argues, taking a seat atop the frontmost desk. “Religion, the Crest system, those aren’t things that you can just get rid of at the snap of your fingers. People need time to adjust, time to get used to your ideals.”

Edelgard contemplates this, a funny look on her face as she closely scrutinizes her. Byleth stares back, keeping her face impassive until Edelgard speaks. “No one has ever dared to speak to me like that, much less oppose me or even look me in the eye. I do wonder what could have transpired had you chosen me.”

Byleth recalls the eerie dream sequence, shuddering as she remembers the feel of Claude’s skin splitting beneath the dagger. “Sided with the Flame Emperor, who worked with the Death Knight -- who endangered your fellow students countless times, those who plotted the murder of my father, and tried to exile me into a void of darkness?”

“Desperation, my teacher. It makes us do strange things,” Edelgard sighs, staring wistfully over Byleth’s shoulder, her shoulders slumping under an unspoken burden. “It’s funny, I’d resolved myself to choosing this path long ago, yet here I am, the Emperor of the Adrestian Empire, explaining myself to you, seeking your understanding.”

“Is that meant to be an insult?” Byleth asks, genuinely unsure. 

“Of course not,” Edelgard sighs. “You’re so...honest. You’re not like Hubert, who would follow and support my every decision without question. You think for yourself, and aren’t afraid to voice your thoughts and beliefs. If I had someone like you at my side, perhaps it all would have turned out differently. Maybe I wouldn’t have lost perspective and...sink to the lows I did under the guise of retribution and revolution. Perhaps...I wouldn’t have lost myself in the process.”

Byleth tilts her head. “Is it really losing yourself if it’s who you were when you started? You rallied a lot of support before you were twenty. You fought for what you believed in and you saw it through to the end. Not many people have the strength to do that. You’re a strong woman, and if being a mercenary taught me anything, it’s that sometimes you have to fight dirty to win. Claude knows that as well as I do.”

The grief on Edelgard’s face was suspended, every muscle in her body tensing before a grin crept onto her face. “My teacher, I…”

Before she can finish her sentence, the monastery bells toll, echoing throughout the empty courtyard and signalling the end of the period. Edelgard places both her hands on the edge of the desk, brown tresses falling over her face as she stares at her feet. “It seems that our time together is up. You’re needed elsewhere.” 

Byleth looks around, looking for any other living - or not living? - souls occupying the area. “What? Who else is here?”

Ignoring her question, Edelgard hops off the desk, closing the remaining distance between them. “Thank you for everything that you’ve done, truly. You truly are… something special. I would have done anything to have you by my side.”

Byleth flicks a strand of her own hair. “Even with all this and everything it stands for?”

The emperor’s eyes sparkle as she laughs. It’s real laugh, so free, pure, and utterly childish despite her level of composure. “Yes, even so. Claude truly is lucky to call you his ally, and I’m glad to leave Fodlan in your capable hands. The only thing I ask is that you not lose yourself in the process.”

“I won’t,” Byleth promises. She isn’t sure that she’s able to be anyone else. Rhea saw to that. Byleth is about to turn away when one last thought tugs at the corner of her mind. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Of course.”

“Why is your hair brown?” She vaguely recalled Dimitri mentioning a change in hair colour during a conversation down in Abyss once, but hadn’t thought much of it.

Edelgard gently tucks a few loose strands behind her ear, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s as I said before; everything here is the way it’s meant to be.”

A flickering of light in the corner of her eye draws her attention, and Byleth turns to see the thread of red magic that had led her into the room has dulled. When she reaches out to touch it, the energy is considerably weaker, but lingers in the form of a dull thrum, vibrating lightly throughout her body. “What happened to it?”

When Edelgard doesn’t reply, Byleth looks up to see that she’s no longer there, and in her place lies a lone red carnation that sits beside a half-drunk cup of bergamot tea. 

Gently lifting the bloom, Byleth presses her lips to its blood red petals. Closing her eyes, she thinks of tea with Ferdinand and studying with Linhardt. She thinks of painting with Bernadetta and watching house tournaments alongside Hubert.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers to the students she’d failed to save. “I hope you can rest easier now.” 

Taking one last look around, Byleth exits the Black Eagle’s classroom, tucking the carnation tucked loosely into the pocket of her coat. 

The braid of magic still exists, and without an ounce of hesitation, Byleth turns into the Blue Lion’s room. Though she has a vague idea of what to expect this time, it still feels as if she’d walked off the edge of a cliff, plummeting down, down, down, sucked into a vortex of swirling colours and shattered memories until darkness overtakes her once more.

**__________**

“Professor, I’ve received word from Ingrid that she’s spotted Claude at the harbour,” Dimitri reports, swinging Areadbhar out at an oncoming Imperial soldier. “It is imperative that we do not let him fall, we must hurry.”

Byleth thrusts her sword forward into the gut of an archer trying to get a jump on her prince, yanking the blade out of their gut and using the sleeve of her uniform to wipe sweat from her brow. “Lead the way,” she says, and Dimitri gives a solitary nod. Byleth follows him down the uneven cobblestone streets of Derdriu, beckoning for Felix to join them.

Dimitri sets a punishing pace, never once letting up to assess the everchanging situation or even take a quick breath. Though both her and Felix are beginning to tire - due to their significantly shorter strides and therefore greater amount of steps - they’ve both learned how to properly keep up with Dimitri when he’s like this. She lingers at his right, where his eye patch hinders his perception. 

“Hey, a little help over here?” 

Dimitri stops so suddenly that Byleth almost crashes into him, his head swiveling left and right to see who’d called out to them. Not far from where they are, a woman with a long ponytail and bloodslicked rapier is backed into a corner, puffing and panting as she holds her ground against an entire battalion on her own. “Is that--”

“Judith,” Felix grunts behind them. “The Hero of Daphnel.” Dimitri frantically looks between the harbour and Judith. She can see the gears turning in his head, trying to decide what to do now. Save her or continue looking for Claude?

“I’ll help her,” Byleth offers. “You can go find and help Claude.” Dimitri casts her a worried glance. “Go,” she urges.

He takes a step forward, but hesitates before turning back halfway and reaching for her in silent question. “Be careful, please. I cannot lose you too.”

She takes his hand, gripping it reassuringly. After Gronder, he’d been reluctant to have her leave his side on the battlefield. It’d do them no good to lose another one of their generals. “I’ll be fine. Keep yourself safe.”

“Do not worry yourself about me,” he says, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Those Imperial dogs know exactly who they’re dealing with.”

Byleth nods, watching him slice through yet another Imperial soldier. Before Felix can follow, she grabs the back of his cloak and yanks him backwards. “Watch his right side and make sure he doesn’t take too many unnecessary hits. He’s--”

“Like a rabid animal with a non-existent sense of self-awareness,” Felix grumbles, snatching his cloak out of her hands. “Don’t fret. I’ll keep it alive.” Though she could use a little enthusiasm, knowing Felix, that’s the closest thing to reassurance she’ll get. So she waves him off, letting him head off after the prince. 

“Boys,” Byleth huffs, rolling her shoulders a few times before taking off in Judith’s direction. She’s still fending off the swordsmen, flitting around the men with the grace of a dancer. She’s beginning to tire, which Byleth detects when her flawless footwork stutters, and her sleeve is sliced open. 

She takes that as her cue to enter the fray, taking two swordsmen out with a few calculated swings of her sword. The two of them make quick work of the small battalion of mercenaries, Judith leaning against a nearby wall when the last one falls.

Byleth tosses her a spare vulnerary, and Judith pops the cork off, holding it up in cheers before downing it. “I appreciate the assist. You must be that professor that the boy-- well, that everyone’s been going on about.” 

“I might be,” Byleth neither confirms nor denies. 

Judith appraises her in that overprotective and almost motherly way, looking her up and down, eyes lingering on the Sword of the Creator. “I can certainly see what all fuss is about.” She pushes off the wall, swiping the blood on her rapier onto her pant leg. “I happen to know a little shortcut to the harbour, care to join me in rescuing the boy?”

“The boy?” Byleth asks, the name unfamiliar on her tongue but familiar somewhere deep within her mind. “Claude?”

“Yes,” Judith nods, a half-smirk playing on her lips. “Wanna go save that pain-in-the-ass Duke?” 

_~ ~ ~_

In the aftermath of the battle for Derdriu, Byleth and Dimitri watch as Judith prods Arundel’s dead body with her foot, shuddering as she takes a few steps back.

“He’s dead,” the prince muses quietly. “There goes our chance to gain more information. Then again, even if we had managed to capture him alive, judging by the way he was acting…”

“We can think about that later,” Byleth hums, taking another look at the most recent update on their numbers. “We’re going to have to move some things around if we want to hit Merceus as soon as possible. If we move some money from the--”

“Back to work already, Teach? You should take this rare opportunity to let off some tension.”

“Back to bother me already?” Byleth retorts, not looking up from her papers. “Thought you’d be halfway to Almyra by now.”

It’s rare for Claude to not immediately come back with some witty rebuttal, and when Byleth finally spares him a glance, the look on his face is priceless, a mix of complete horror and fascination. Though Byleth doesn’t know why Almyra is the first thing she’d thought of, a quick look at his uniform confirms her mindless slip of tongue. 

Dimitri doesn’t seem to catch on, hand firmly gripping Claude’s shoulder in greeting. “Claude! I’m relieved to see that you’re unharmed. How did the Alliance army fare?”

Recovering rather quickly, Claude’s face breaks out into that incredibly fake - but admittedly charming - grin of his. “We got out mostly unscathed, thanks to you guys. I knew you were a couple of soft-hearted suckers, derailing your entire campaign to help us out here on the east coast.”

“Your plan only worked because we made it in time,” Dimitri reprimands lightly. “Were you really so confident that we would answer your call?”

“Of course. I knew you wouldn’t hesitate to put yourself second and come running to our aid. I admit that it was a gamble, but I’ve always been fond of taking dangerous risks,” he admits, a mischievous glimmer in his eye. “You and I are cut from different cloth, your princeliness. I wouldn’t make a move unless I could gain something from it. You’ve always been the opposite, helping others out of the kindness of your soft heart. You were the ace up my sleeve.”

“Insightful,” Byleth praises, impressed by how shrewd his observation had been. “What will you do now?"

“Oh, I’m leaving Fodlan,” Claude says, almost as an afterthought. “Here, take this.” He places his Hero’s Relic, Failnaught, in Dimitri’s hands, both he and Byleth left stunned by his earlier announcement. “As of today, the Leicester Alliance is no more. I’ve cleared this with the members of the Roundtable, so you can stop looking at me like I’m crazy. My army is yours now, and all that’s left is for me to officially step down.”

“W-where are you going?” Dimitri questions. “What will you do?”

With an ever mysterious wink, Claude turns on his heel. “It’s time for me to focus on my own dreams. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but let’s promise to meet again. When we do, don’t be too hard on me, your _Kingliness.”_ He holds a hand out to each of them to shake, and the second that Byleth places hers in his, he pulls her forward, placing a kiss on each of her cheeks. Byleth is about to back away, but Claude’s grip lingers, his lips brushing her ear. 

“If you ever get bored of Fodlan, or get bored of being Archbishop, I think you know where to find me. We could do great things together, Teach.”

He walks away without another word, and they let him go, still standing shell-shocked with Failnaught in hand. 

Byleth should be perfectly content with letting him walk away. She has no ties to Claude, has no reason to beg him to stay. If anything, he had just given them a gift, no strings attached. 

_He has to go,_ Byleth’s brain tries to convince her. _If he sticks around, the power struggle within the Alliance will continue to give the Kingdom grief._

But even Byleth can’t deny that there’s _something_ there. A dull ache that creeps across her chest as she watches his figure retreat down the harbour. An ache that’s there as she grounds herself, planting her feet on the ground to keep from following, stopping the invisible pull she feels as she watches him leave. 

**__________**

The ache is still there when she wakes again, sitting heavily in her chest as she pushes up off the floor of the Blue Lion’s classroom. Her brain feels muddled, and she’s still unable to make out just what those odd ‘dream’ sequences are. Real or fake? She just can’t decide.

“Professor, are you alright?” Blinking a few times, Byleth’s eyes find a black gauntlet, palm upturned in offering. 

“Dimitri,” she breathes, taking his hand and letting him help her up. “You’re here.”

He smiles at her, and as he helps into a seat and sits across from her, Byleth notes that he looks considerably better than when she’d last seen him at Gronder. His hair no longer stringy and wild, instead tied up neatly and out of his face. He no longer wears a dirtied eyepatch, both blue eyes staring at her with such genuine concern.

“I am. It came as a shock to me as well. I thought...well, I’d resolved to spend eternity elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry,” Byleth says quietly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.” She should have done more. Chased him down and dragged him back from the brink of his despair. She’d had countless opportunities to do so. The Battle of Garreg Mach, the Battle at Gronder, she should have reached out and _helped him._

“My life is my own, Professor. I am the only one who can be responsible for what transpired,” Dimitri tells her. 

Byleth had heard of the hardships Dimitri had faced after the Empire had attacked Garreg Mach. His friends said that he’d snapped the day that Edelgard had been revealed as the Flame Emperor, that the delicate mask he’d worn had shattered, and as Felix had often said, a boar had emerged. 

“You didn’t deserve any of it,” Byleth insists. The assassination and execution coup, the subjugation of Western Faerghus, the fall of the resistance army. None of her students deserved any of what had happened, if she were being honest. “Maybe if I hadn’t disobeyed Rhea’s orders and led the retreat instead of doing the exact opposite, I could have prevented the tragedies that Faerghus and the rest of Fodlan had suffered.” 

It was a thought that had often lingered at the back of her mind that she’d never found the courage to voice. If she hadn’t disappeared that day, could the war have gone differently? Countless lives had been lost in the five years she’d been asleep. Could her presence have changed that?

Dimitri frowns at her admission. “You cannot hold yourself accountable for the actions performed by others, Professor. That burden is not yours to carry. None of us blamed you for disappearing that day.”

“That burden is always mine to carry,” she disagrees. She was a professor, and whether she’d disappeared of her volition or not was arbitrary. She’d left the students to fend for themselves, and during the war, she’d even had a hand in killing some of them. It might not have always been by her hand, but she’d commanded the soldiers that had.

Dimitri doesn’t say anything, sighing from a place deep in his chest. “I must admit that I’m no stranger to what it is that you’re feeling. The burden of fault and resposibility is not one so easily cast aside or forgotten. I was the only survivor in the tragedy that killed my family and closest friends, and since that moment I’d lived solely so they could someday be avenged.”

Byleth was familiar with the Tragedy of Duscar. The supposed uprising that had killed King Lambert and Felix’s older brother, Glenn. 

“I allowed it to overtake me,” Dimitri continues when Byleth chooses to stay silent. “Let it drive me to madness until I’d all but abandoned everything I’d once stood for. When Edelgard had been unmasked as the Flame Emperor, my sense of justice was completely warped, and I was completely consumed by my hatred for her and the Empire.” 

“I know what that’s like, in a way,” Byleth murmurs. “When Monica’s whereabouts had been disclosed to me, I wasn’t thinking clearly at all. All I could think about was getting revenge for the death of my father.” It’d of course been a trap, as everyone but Byleth had acknowledged. “I suppose that when someone we love has been taken from us, all logical thought suddenly becomes foreign.”

Dimitri looks...surprised by her words. As if he’d expected her to recoil in disgust or gaze upon him with scorn. “Yes,” he agrees. “It’s somewhat a comfort to know you’ve felt as I have. I once to envied you, Professor. It seems I must reevaluate my original opinion.”

It’s Byleth’s turn to be surprised. “You were jealous of me?”

He nods at her in that overly earnest way of his. “When you first came to the Officer’s Academy, you unnerved me. You never smiled, and you never showed anger either. And yet, you didn’t appear to be suppressing your emotions, they just...weren’t there. It was as though you had no humanity whatsoever. When you cut through those bandits that night in Remire...that’s when I envied you most. You killed without hesitation, without emotion.” 

“You don’t want to be like that,” Byleth chuckles. “That comes with a whole different set of issues.” Probably more than he could fathom. Byleth hardly could herself.

“But I did wish to be like you, nonetheless. Dedue… he once told me that I felt too strongly, cared too deeply. So I thought if I could shut my mind off and not feel anything, then the pain and anger that had taken my life would just...disappear.”

“Ah, that’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” Byleth sighs. The idea certainly appealed to her once, and had been advantageous at times, but that just wasn’t how one was meant to live. “I lived like that for years, Dimitri, and I assure you that whatever you’re feeling doesn’t just disappear. It gets locked away somewhere deep within your mind, and everything that happens, everything you don’t feel...it just piles up. And it keeps on building and building until there’s one incident that just--” Byleth pauses, taking a few breaths as she recalls the result of such emotional blockage. “One incident that just breaks you. Everything you’ve let pile up just comes pouring out all at once, and all of sudden you’re feeling too much.” Byleth knew that feeling well, and judging from the sympathetic look in Dimitri’s eyes, he did too. 

The first time it’d happened, it’d come as a shock. Her mind had always been so comfortably silent, as if a misty haze had settled upon its horizons. The day her father died, it was like a crystal vase falling onto hardwood floor, shattering any sense of normalcy she’d accommodated during her time at the Academy. She’d been completely fine one moment, then the next thing she knew she was on the floor, limbs unwilling to work at all.

“You seem to have all the answers, Professor,” Dimitri muses. “So tell me...how do I move past it? I’d always assumed that death would be the end, that no matter how much lingering regret a person has, after death, the would would be powerless. _I_ would be powerless and no longer wish for revenge, much less seek it out.” Folding his arms across his chest, Dimitri stares down at his boots. “Hatred. Regret. Responsibility. Those burdens still rest heavily upon my back.” He lifts his pleading gaze to meet hers once more. “So tell me, Professor. How do I silence the desperate pleas of the dead?” 

It must be difficult, Byleth thinks, for a soul to be so troubled and not achieve some semblance of closure or peace before it’s too late. “You pick yourself up and keep moving,” she suggests. “Not because you want to or because you’re necessarily ready at the time, but because you _have_ to. You take all those things that you’re feeling and turn it into something else. Something good.”

It’s what Claude had done. He’d taken the anger, hurt, and betrayal he’d experienced in Almyra and used it as fuel to fire his dream. “So maybe feeling isn’t such a bad thing. It gives us purpose and in some cases...the strength to forgive yourself. I...I hope you can do that, Dimitri.”

The monastery bells toll before he can reply, but it seems that words are no longer needed between them, becaseu Dimitri gently takes both her hands in his. “Thank you for speaking with me, Professor. I feel...lighter. Like maybe...I can finally begin to move forward again. As you continue to move forward, all I ask is that you take care of my friends. Of Ingrid and Sylvain and Felix. I may have failed them, but I know that they made the right decision in following you. I only wish that I could have had the strength to do the same.”

“You would have been a good king,” Byleth tells him. Though she hadn’t had much time with him in her odd dream, he seemed to be doing good. Much better than he had been at Gronder. She’d felt it then, how much he cared for her and his friends, putting a halt on his campaign to aid the Alliance. That was what good leaders did. “I know it.”

Just as it had in the Black Eagle’s classroom, the swirl of blue magic flutters like candlelight, its glow slowly diminishing before dulling all at once. 

When it fades, Byleth notices that Dimitri’s hands are no longer holding hers. Instead, something small tickles her palms. A small bunch of chamomile flowers rests in her hands.

She thinks back on the times she’d planted such flowers in the greenhouse with Dedue, who’d always been a silent yet comfortable companion, and all the times she’d spent with Mercedes, crushing the blooms into tea and enjoying them over freshly baked sweets. For however fearsome the Blue Lions seemed, they’d all been such gentle souls. 

Even the King of Lions himself.

**__________**

Byleth stares at the final thread of magic. She’s absolutely mesmerized by the brilliant gold shimmer. When she reaches out to touch it, the magic dances across her skin, zipping through her veins and making her feel alive with new energy. Golden, warm, and leading into the room she treasured most. 

She wants to sprint inside, but she forces herself to hold back. To stop and attempt to properly assess the situation, because unlike the previous two classrooms, she had no idea what to expect. 

Her body seems to know what to do before her mind does, leading her to take a purposeful strides towards the classroom that she’d considered her first real home. 

She’s about to cross the threshold when someone calls out to her, and Byleth’s breath catches in her throat.

“Hey, kid.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, tears immediately sting behind her eyes, threatening to spill over as she slowly turns around. Her mouth trembled as she spoke, unable to form more than the single syllable word that had pained her for so long. “Dad?”

He’s standing a few feet away, his face a mix of confusion and delight. “Byleth.”

She closes the distance between them in record time, throwing herself into him. He staggers back in shock, but immediately wraps his arms around her, his hand stroking her hair as Byleth’s tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down her cheeks. The world around her turned to a blur, and the only thing she can focus on is the sound of her father’s heart, beating steadily in his chest.

“I love you,” she sobs into the soft material of his shirt. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Something wet falls onto the crown of her head, and when Byleth sneaks a peak at her father’s rugged face, she watches as another tear traces down his face. “I love you too, By.”

“I miss you. I miss you so much.”

He pulls her back gently, looking down at her. “I miss you too, kid. We have a lot to catch up on, don’t we?” 

“We do,” Byleth laughs, though it sounds more like a sob as she uses the heel of her hand to wipe at the tears staining her cheeks. 

“Jeralt, who are you-- oh...oh my,” someone gasps behind them. “You’re not meant to be here for quite some time.”

That’s the second time someone’s said something like that to her. Is this really supposed to be _her_ paradise if she isn’t even ‘supposed to be here.’

Her father turns around, his grin widening. “Honey, you’re just in time. This is--”

“Byleth,” the woman finishes for him. “I pushed all seven pounds of her out of a hole the size of a lemon, Jeralt, of course I know who this is.”

Byleth has a feeling she knows exactly who this is too. “You’re...you’re my…”

It’s almost like looking into a mirror, though the woman in front of her has forest green hair and eyes.. She’s definitely of smaller stature as well, looking almost birdlike in comparison to her husband. “I’m your mother, yes,” she smiles. 

Sitri Eisner.

Her _mother._

A thin arm snakes around Byleth’s shoulders, pulling her away from Jeralt. “Mother told me you might be here, I sent your father down to find you.”

“Mother?” Byleth asks, still trying to process the fact that she now had her own. “Your mother?”

“Well, you call her Lady Rhea,” Sitri hums, a skip in her step as she walks Byleth back towards the Golden Deer classroom. Rhea was here too? “You’ll need to take a look in here if you’re going to get this old thing working again,” she giggles, patting Byleth’s chest, right above the crest stone. “I gave it to you in the hopes you’d live a long, long life.”

“But I’m with you now,” Byleth points out, stopping before the oak doors and turning to face her own mother. “And with Dad. I want to get to know you and make up for the time I missed with both of you. I want to know what it’s like to have a family.”

She wanted to know. Jeralt had given her the best life he could on his own, and while he’d shown her enough love to last a lifetime, the absence of her mother’s presence had been sorely felt. Her father had never said so, but Byleth knew that he’d missed her. 

Cool hands come up to cup the sides of her face, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “Love,” Her mother murmurs, “you already have one.” She gently nudges Byleth forward. “Go on and see for yourself, we can talk after.” Byleth looks back at her father, who nods in approval.

“Okay,” she agrees, finally following that last thread of gold magic into the classroom. _Her_ classroom.

There’s no falling sensation upon entering. No swirling colours or inverting lights. It’s just a regular old classroom. Just the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath her feet and sunlight streaming through the open windows, remniscient of the first day of classes. She breathes in the scent of parchment and wet ink, filling her with a sense of comfort and bringing about a wave of nostalgia. 

She skims her fingers along the spines of the books lining the shelves, coming to a stop at a book on the third row, four from the left. She pulls the red book from it’s spot, revealing a bottle of Almyran whiskey, still unopened.

Byleth leaves the bottle where it is, replacing the book. Some things were better left untouched. 

She looks back to where her mother still stands in the doorway, wearing a smile as bright as the sun (some of the fluff in Jeralt’s journal hadn’t been over-exaggerations, it seemed) she sends Byleth a small wave.

The classroom is empty. There’s no house leader to greet her, and though she knows that’s a good thing it also means that she has no idea what’ll happen next.

That insistent thread of magic still floats in the centre of the room, drawing Byleth’s eye with its captivating glow. Curious, it’s with a trembling hand that Byleth reaches out for that final strand, watching with utter fascination as it coils around her hand, pulsing with life as the power of the progenitor god floods her veins once more.

_~ ~ ~_

“So, capable stranger, where do your allegiances lie?”

Byleth’s head snaps up at the sound of Claude’s voice, and suddenly she realizes that she isn’t in the classroom anymore, she’s on the outskirts of Remire, wiping off her old iron blade as the princess, prince, and future duke stand in front of her, eagerly awaiting an answer.

The answer rolls off her tongue with practiced ease. “The Leicester Alliance.” 

Surprise sparks in those emerald eyes. “Is that right? Well, that’s a win for the Alliance, so I suppose I’m obligated to be happy.”

_~ ~ ~_

Byleth blinks, and all of a sudden she’s back at the Officer’s Academy, the courtyard swarming with excited students touring around the campus.

“Scored a teaching gig here, did ya? Talk about great first impression.” 

Claude leans against a nearby pillar, arms thrown up behind his head as he regards her, assessing the mysterious new professor. “I’m guessing you don’t know what you’ll be teaching yet, do you? I bet you’d like ours. We’re not as...difficult as the other two.” He leans closer, a lazy smile on his face. “I hope you pick me, Teach. We could be great together.”

It’s then that Byleth decides to go with the Golden Deer. She isn’t sure why, but it seems like the right choice.

_~ ~ ~_

The sunlit courtyard fades away, replaced by stacks upon stacks of bookshelves. Across the table that she sits at, Claude’s face is illuminated by the flickering candlelight. The smell of Almyran pine needles floats throughout the Shadow Library.

There’s that smile she loves so much, that real smile that lifts his entire face and makes her smile too. “Us outsiders have to stick together, right?” 

“I don’t see you as an outsider, Claude.”

He’s not an outsider, he’s her best friend. Byleth had never had a friend before.

_~ ~ ~_

The flickering candlelight turns to flickering starlight, and now she’s in the goddess tower on the night of the ball. She and Claude sit side by side on the parapet, gazing up at the vast expanse of the night sky, talking about their dreams. 

Atop the cool stone, Claude’s fingertips brush hers, and Byleth shudders, goosebumps rise across the flesh of her arm. 

“I want you to share in those dreams too, Teach.”

Byleth had never had dreams before, no real goals in life or things she wanted to accomplish, but she really wanted to share in his.

_~ ~ ~_

It doesn’t stop there. A string of memories unravels, each one marked by Claude. His face, his voice, his hands, his body. Through the good, the bad, and even the painful, he’s in each one, filling the confines of her mind with his presence, going as far back as their first meeting, all the way up to the end.

Byleth is reliving her final moments in Claude’s arms, looking up into those emerald eyes she loves until everything goes dark once more.

_“Sleeping again? Don’t tell me you’re planning on taking another five year nap.”_

Byleth jerks awake, slamming her head against the underside of a desk. “You couldn’t have moved me somewhere else?” She groans, rubbing her forehead. 

“You weren’t dreaming, silly,” Sothis titters, floating around the room. “I was simply showing you this,” she flicks the thread of magic, and it glows with renewed golden light that’s so bright Byleth almost needs to shield her eyes in order to preserve her corneas.

“Your powers? Kind of already know how those work.”

“No. I was showing you _fate.”_

That which was predetermined. Unchangeable and unavoidable. _Meant to be._ Was this her fate? Was this it for her? Why show her all of that, only to tell her she could never have it again. Never hear the sound of Claude’s laughter or feel the touch of his warm skin against hers? 

“So is this it for me, then? I thought...I thought I would have more time.” How funny it was, fearing the possibility of immortality one moment, only for the idea to be ripped away much too early.

Sothis kneels beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Fate...it’s a funny thing, Byleth. Some say it’s a function of the divine. As the goddess, I can say it’s much simpler than that.” She gestures to the magic in front of them. “Fate is like a string. A thread, if you will. Some are short, some are long, and over time it may stretch or tangle, but it never breaks. It withstands all. Love and heartbreak, success and failure. Such are the ups and downs that make us all unique and give our lives meaning.” 

“What never changes though,” Sothis continues, taking Byleth’s hand in her own. “Is that it always leads us to where we’re meant to be, and in the end, isn’t that what we all want? To find where we belong and be with those that we belong with? That, my dear child, is fate.” 

She nods her head towards the courtyard, and when Byleth follows her gaze, she sees Edelgard, engulfed in a group hug by a group of brown haired children with identical violet eyes. 

Then she sees Dimitri, on his knees in front of a blonde haired man and woman dressed in the regalia of Faerghan kings and queens, joined by a man with a striking resemblance to Felix. 

Finally, she sees her mother and father, arms wrapped around one another, gazes filled with nothing but love. 

As heartwarming as the scene is, the unanswered question tugs at her mind. “What about me?” Byleth questions, turning back to the goddess. “What am I supposed to do now? What about Claude?”

As tempting as it is to rejoin her father, and finally know her mother, all she can think about is Claude, and how much she would miss him.

She understood now, what all those dreams and memories were showing her. What Sothis was showing her. Each dream had led her back to him, regardless of the decisions she'd made. It was her hesitation in killing him, her longing at his departure. But she'd chosen him, and had been led to the decision by the pull of that golden thread of fate. 

_Meant to be._

Still smiling at her, Sothis tilts her head at the question. “It would seem that my fate was once tied to you, and yours is tied to him. He grieves because his is tied to you as well. You gave me life once, it’s only fair that I return the favour.” She places a hand over the spot where the Crest Stone - Sothis’ own heart - rests, a warm glow emitting from her palm. “The Crest of Flames shall continue to course through your veins...but your heart? That shall finally be your own.” 

Byleth barely has time to process what that even means when someone bursts through the doorway. “Wait!” 

Sitri stumbles in, followed closely by Jeralt. The two of them drop to the floor beside her, their hug a tangle of limbs. Byleth melts into it, emotions swirling in her chest as her parents hold her. Something is happening, but Byleth doesn’t know what.

“I love you,” Jeralt mumbles into her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I love you so much, kid, you be good, okay?”

“I love you too, Dad,” she cries, a new wave of tears spilling over. “I’m always good.”

Her mother takes her face in her hands again, thumbs swiping away any stray tears. “I don’t regret a thing,” she whispers softly in her ear. “You were always my perfect girl. We’ll talk more someday,” Sitri assures her, pressing something small into her palm and wrapping Byleth’s fingers around it.

Byleth looks down to see a small bundle of valerian clutched in her hand.

When both Jeralt and Sitri reluctantlty let her go, Sothis reappears at her side and replaces her hands, which are still glowing with magic. 

This magic is different, tingling all throughout her body like static. It’s not quite uncomfortable, but it’s unusual. Her chest suddenly feels tight, her breaths coming out in short pants. 

“What’s happening?” She winces, looking between Sothis and her parents, black dots spotting her vision. “What did you do…”

“When you see that unkempt, blathering fool again,” Sothis huffs indignantly, “Tell him I heard his prayer that night, and that I, in all my radiance, has decided to grant that which he seeks.”

As Byleth once again slips into darkness, Sothis’ voice echoes through her mind one last time. 

_“Live your life well, Byleth.”_

**__________**

Claude had always made it a point not to cry in front of others. He didn’t like looking weak, or showing any sign of weakness.

But as he holds Byleth’s still body in his lap, he can’t even attempt to stifle his sobs, breaking down his every defense with every wave of salty tears.

It’d only been a few minutes, but the pain that Claude was feeling was as palpable as the frigid Faerghan winds, emotions swirling like ice water in his gut. Each new wave of grief was pure agony, his shoulders shaking with each wrack of emotion. He was the picture of loss, grief, and utter devastation.

The shame and anger he felt still burned under his skin, a deep emptiness filling the break in his heart. Though his watery vision, Claude catches sight of the ring on her finger, still shimmering in the starlight of the night. His head drops down onto her chest, the raw sobs escaping his throat stinging like the pain of an open wound. 

The only words he manages to choke out are a garbled mix of “I love you, I’m sorry, and I need you,” over and over again until his voice threatens to give out.

When he finally manages to staunch the flow of tears, that’s when he hears it for the first time. 

Unsure as to whether his brain is making things up for the sake of healing his broken heart, Claude presses his ear over the left side of her chest. 

He hears it again, drawing back to look at her in partial shock before dipping down for a second listen. He doesn’t move, barely breathes as he _listens._

Byleth’s heartbeat echoes in his ear, strong and steady, a cacophonous thrumming of healthy rhythm. Chills run down Claude’s spine as he wonders if it’s a figment of his imagination, though he’s silently hoping and praying that it isn’t. 

Claude braves a look at her face, her beautiful face, and his brow furrows when he sees that the colour has returned to her cheeks. The backs of his fingers brush against warm skin. Byleth’s skin had always been cool. 

His breath hitches when her eyelids flutter, his own heart racing in his chest as her eyes open, revealing the steel blue irises that he’d fallen in love with a long, long, time ago.

How this is happening, Claude doesn’t know, but for once in his life, he doesn't need an answer.

“Hey, Teach.”

  
  


_“...It originates from the old Fodlan word ‘valere,’ which means ‘to be strong.’”_

_“A strong flower, eh? That’s something I might actually remember.”_

_“I think this little sprout is going to be a strong one when she grows up. Her father is the famed Blade Breaker after all.”_

_“Sitri, I told you not to call me that. It’s tacky! Hey-- why are you laughing?”_

_“The strongest knight to ever live...is allergic to bees.”_

_“That’s not funny! What if our daughter inherits the allergy? The monastery is full of flowers and all sorts of things that bees like to hang around.”_

_“Oh, Jeralt. Your child will someday be stronger than you know. It’d take a lot more than allergy to bring our daughter down. Especially if I have a say in it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude, still crying: You forgot about the third bullet point of your syllabus, Teach. "don't die."
> 
> find me on twitter! i'd love to be friends! @abbycordero7


	30. tied me to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is purely self-indulgent fluff. We need it after the rollercoaster that the last two chapters were. 
> 
> I hope that you enjoy this final chapter. I love it with all my heart.
> 
> (ps: Queen of my Heart by Westlife is the superior Claudeleth S-support song. give it a listen.)

“Hey, By.” 

Claude stands in the doorway of her room, hands hidden behind his back as he awaits her permission to enter. She knows his sudden attempts at propriety is more for Seteth’s sake than their own, because goddess forbid someone catch them alone together _out of wedlock._ Imagine the scandal. 

Sitting upright in her bed, Byleth waves him in. The papers that were in her lap scatter to the floor, and when she reaches down to grab them, Claude is by her side, gently grasping her shoulder and push her back against the headboard. 

He sets a tray of tea and a handful of new papers on her nightstand. “Allow me, your gracious Majesty,” he announces with all the haughty flourish he can muster as he gathers the scattered documents. “I am but a humble servant in your employ.”

He’d been like that the past three days, assisting her with the simplest of tasks and hardly allowing her to lift a finger. “Claude, I don’t need you doing all these things for me anymore. I can do them myself.”

“You’ll have to get used to it,” he chuckles, placing the documents on her desk. “Pretty soon you’ll have a castle full of people whose sole purpose is to pick up after you. With all the work you’ve done for Fodlan, you deserve to be looked after once in a while,” he adds, his lips brushing against the crown of her head. 

Byleth feels her chest flutter as he does so, and places a hand over her new heart. 

It was a delicate feeling that stole her breath away each time it did something out of the ordinary, metronome pulses. Sometimes it was shallow, and she hardly knew it was there. Sometimes she could feel each pound in her chest. 

The first time Claude was around and her heart had reacted with a stutter, she’d thought she was having a heart attack. He’d assured her that no, her heart was _not_ attacking herself, but was sending ripples of love and warmth throughout her veins.

She loved it. 

“Still getting used to it, huh?” Claude smiles, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. “I’ve gotta say, whatever happened after…that.” His smile falters as he searches for the right words, busying his hands by pouring two cups of tea. She hadn’t gone into depth with Claude about what had transpired during her odd, dreamlike adventure on the Blue Sea Star, but the change in her appearance and the beating of her heart had been enough evidence to prove that something unexplainable had transpired. “I really think it was for the better.” 

“I do too,” she murmurs. She’d tell him what happened someday, when she was able to wrap her own around it. “Other than the tea, what did you bring me?”

“Oh, right. I got the results of your blood work. It was a little tricky, because the Crest Analyzer was having a bit of trouble getting a read, but Lysithea managed to figure it out.” He hands her the paper, and Byleth skims through Lysithea’s neat scrawl to find the result. 

A Minor Crest of Flames.

Byleth almost laughs out loud. That stubborn goddess just couldn’t leave her alone, could she? 

A small smile curls on her lips as she idly twirls a loose strand of green hair around her finger. She’s grateful to her, nonetheless. Sothis had always been there for her through thick and thin and...It was nice to have something to remember her by. 

He pushes a few more papers into her hands, green eyes twinkling as he does so. “I have some other that I need you to sign. Just some legal documents that state my transfer of power into your hands...among other things.”

Byleth nods, grabbing a nearby quill as she scans the words on each paper. She notices Claude staring a little more intently than usual as she signs the topmost report. She shuffles it to the back, immediately starting on the next one.

Her heart skips a beat when she reads the title, her breath catching in her throat as she looks up at Claude and holds the paper up for him to see.

“This is a marriage certificate,” she informs him slowly, suddenly very conscious of the emerald gem sitting on her finger. 

“Huh, wonder how that got there.”

“You’ve already signed it.”

“Is that so? Maybe you should sign it too, just for good measure.”

_“Claude.”_

“I want to marry you, Byleth,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “No one knows me the way you do. You know my faults, and there are many, yet you love me regardless. You see through me in ways I never thought anyone could.” There’s something so raw about his voice that it steals her breath away. It’s heavy with such unfiltered emotion that she rarely hears from him.

“I know that my word might not mean much to others, but if you marry me I promise to always be honest with you. I won’t always have answers and I know you won’t either, but you’ll never be alone in your problems and neither will I. I love you. I don’t need a big party. I don’t need specialty cakes or fancy napkins or a tailored suit. I just need _you._ At least this way...it’s official. _”_

Byleth is sure that her heart does a flip in her chest. Then it backflips and does a cartwheel. _Can a heart even do that?_ Her finger traces the loops of his signature, the ink long dried. He made this decision a long time ago. “Don’t we need a third party present? Aren’t there more laws involved in this type of process?”

He shoots her a funny look, taking his hand in hers and placing a kiss on each of her knuckles. “You’re the Queen of Fódlan and new leader of the Church of Seiros. By, you _are_ the law.”

Right. There was that fact. “Where do I sign?”

As he points to the blank line awaiting her signature, the smile on his face is more genuine than Byleth thinks she’s ever seen. He kisses her before the ink can dry, and Byleth sighs as she leans into it, letting him carefully crawl over her lap and guide her into the plush bedding.

He pouts like a child when she pushes at his chest, licking her swollen lips as she admires the rare, flushed look on his face. “Wait,” she breathes, digging into her pocket to find the leather pouch she always keeps hidden there. She takes Claude’s warm hand and turns his palm upwards, tipping the bag over and letting the ring fall into his hand. 

He stares at it in awe, and Byleth is amused by the fact that such a small thing has rendered Claude von Reigan speechless. “You need a ring too. It was my mother’s, so you’ll need to get it resized but--” 

He doesn’t let her finish, kissing her fiercely and tugging at the collar of her nightgown.

Propriety be damned.

**__________**

When the two of them travel down to the monastery’s dining hall, Byleth is sure that Hilda’s high-pitched shriek can be heard in northern Faerghus.

“You did it,” she gasps when Claude holds up the marriage certificate. “When did this happen?”

“We made it official about an hour ago,” Byleth answers, holding up her left hand.

“I’m so happy for you two,” she squeals, grabbing her hand and ogling at the ring. She then whirls around and smacks Claude on the arm. “What about the wedding? You need a wedding!”

Still coming down from their post-coital high, Claude very much looks like he’s trapped in a pleasant daze. “Well we talked about having a wedding later on once things in Faerghus and Adrestia settle down a little--”

Hilda ignores them, jumping into action with a focus that Byleth rarely sees, barking orders with the commanding tone of a seasoned general. “Raphael, take Lysithea into town and go buy a cake. Doesn’t matter what flavour, just make sure it has white icing. Lorenz, go find Seteth and get some decor. Tablecloths, ribbons, drapes. Anything white with gold trim, you should find plenty of it. Sylvian, go scare up some alcohol from the tavern. No proper party is complete without a little booze.”

She snaps her fingers once, and everyone leaps into action. 

For once, Byleth finds herself at the eye of the storm. Amidst the chaos commencing around them, Claude snakes his arms around her waist, his chin resting in the crook of her neck. “I guess we’re getting that party after all,” he whispers into her skin. 

“Hilda just needs an excuse to throw a party. She earned it.” 

Within two hours, the dining hall has been transformed into a small ballroom. The tables have been pushed aside to make room for a dancefloor, draped in white cloth and sprinkled with paper confetti. The candlelight casts a warm, welcoming glow over them, making Byleth feel instantly feel at ease.

And the _food._ Oh, the scents wafting through the room are enough to make Byleth’s mouth water, and throughout the night she finds herself tugging on Claude’s hand, guiding him back to pick at the different dishes.

As romantic as their personal celebration had been, she definitely didn’t mind the party now. Byleth enjoyed the liveliness on her student’s faces, 

When everyone has had their share of food and conversation, Hilda taps a fork against her glass and insists on short speeches from the bride and groom. 

Byleth had never been so eloquent in her speech. Flowery language didn’t fall naturally from her tongue, especially not on the spot. She thanks their friends for the party, and tells Claude she loves him, and is excited to spend the rest of her life with him. What more was required?

Claude is the exact opposite. Though he stands and delivers his speech in front of their friends, the way his gaze rests on her makes it seem like they’re the only two people in the room.

“I used to think about you a lot,” he starts. “I still do, but back then I thought about where you would fit into my plans for the future. What I would have you do, and when. Then...I got to know you. I grew to like you and eventually...love you. Somewhere in between liking you and loving you, I realized that you were more than just some moving part. You are my future.”

A chorus of dreamy sighs fill the room, and Byleth swears she sees Seteth turn away as he sheds a single tear. 

“Now kiss her on the lips!” Caspar shouts, banging his fist on the table. 

Claude doesn’t need any convincing, dipping down and doing much more than just kissing her on the lips. It conveys every unspoken word of love and comfort, condensed into a single action and moment. 

More congratualtions are passed around, and soon it’s time to dance. Ignatz has managed to corral a band from town, bringing with them a joyful array of music. From upbeat, jaunty tunes to slower, more intimate pieces. 

She and Claude try to share dances with everyone. Everyone is dragged onto the dance floor and having a good time. In a way, it doubles as their post-war celebration, any lingering stress chased away by the lively music. It’s good to see her friends laugh and smile so easily. One final jovial event before life catches up to them and they all go their separate ways.

As the night comes to a close, Hilda clears the dance floor for one final dance between the bride and groom. Flayn places a makeshift veil of white table lace atop her hair. The music slows down, and Byleth leans into her _husband._ They’re both too tired to waltz anymore, opting instead to just enjoy each other’s company and sway. He presses his cheek to the top of her head, and Byleth presses hers to his chest. 

The sounds of the impromptu wedding fade away with the last tendrils of daylight. She no longer hears the music or the chatter, focusing on the sound of the heart that she loves so much.

“Hey, I need to tell you something,” he whispers against her hair.

“Hm?”

“The reason why I wanted to get this done today...Is because I still have to go.” 

She looks up at him, blue eyes the colour of a midwinter sky meeting his endless emerald ones. Part of her wishes he would stay. She longs for him to put his trip off for a few weeks to help her settle into her role. But while she knows that the peace they’ve earned is delicate, and it was best for him to start the next phase, and expand his vision to his homeland. “I know. It’s okay.”

He looks surprised, as if he’d expected her to argue. Though it quickly fades into relief, his shoulders suddenly less tense. “I’ll be back before you know it. You won’t even have time to miss me. The second I get back, we’re going on that vacation.”

“Ah, starting with Morfis?” She recalls, the memory of his promise tinged with a hint of sorrow.

She feels the vibrations of his chest as he laughs quietly. “I won’t give myself frostbite this time, don’t worry.”

He leaves the next morning, and Byleth stands on the Star Terrace and watches as his wyvern carries him east, into the dawn. Though her heart is heavy and she already misses him, she forces herself to look forward, looking to the dream they’d fought so hard to achieve.

**__________**

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

Claude, as per usual, makes his dramatic reappearance at the apex of the battle against the remainders of the Empire and those who slither in the dark. His arrival with the Almyran forces turns the tides of war and pushes the newly United Fódlan through to the last legs of victory. 

It’d been a stressful battle for Byleth, who’d long used the Divine Pulse to ensure the safety of those dear to her. Though the Sword of the Creator was still within her employ, the insurance of her hold on the flow of time had been a crutch, and she’d sorely felt it’s absence. 

She also tired more easily, her body succumbing to fatigue more readily and her heart beating so wildly during the throes of battle that she felt it may bust through her ribcage. 

It doesn’t help when she sees Claude after the battle, and her heart feels like it may explode.

After six long months, she sheds the sophisticated, royal front she’d put on and _runs_ to him. She drops her sword and sprints across the ruined battlefield. He catches her when she leaps into his open arms, swinging her up and burying his face in the crook of her neck and breathing her in like she was air.

“I missed you,” she tells him, as if she hadn’t in the dozens of letters they’d exchanged. 

He draws back to look at her, his free hand coming up to gently trace her cheekbone. No words written on paper could ever convey the intimacy of his touch and what it did to her. 

When Byleth takes his face between both of her hands, she realizes that his cheeks are wet, his eyes shining with tears she kisses the tip of his nose. She moves to his cheek, tasting salt - a mix of blood, sweat, and tears - then kisses the line of his neatly shaved jaw before finding his lips. 

He still hasn’t spoken, but returns the kiss slowly, deeply. His arms tighten around her, as if saying he never wanted to let her go again.

That wordless assurance alone was enough for her.

**__________**

To settle the nerves of the nobles and stop the pouring in of marriage proposals to the Queen, they have an official wedding two months later. 

It takes place at Fódlan’s Locket. The long used symbol of division between their two countries christened with a new meaning as the doors open on both sides, and the glass bottle that Claude had long envisioned finally shatters. 

The festivities are on a scale Byleth had never experienced before. The union of a queen to a king is no small affair, but the sheer level of noise and joy is enough to be heard all across the Throat. 

Byleth gets along fabulously with his parents. Together with Judith and Nader the five of them share drinks as they tell old and new stories at the expense of the new King, laughing at the flush on his cheeks as he whines and pleads for them to stop. 

Before they leave for their honeymoon, Tiana wraps her arms around Byleth, squeezing tightly in only a way a mother could. “Thank you. For taking care of my son. I hope he does the same for you.”

“Of course,” Byleth nods, clutching her bouquet of valerian to her aching heart and thinks of her own parents. She wished they could have been here. That her mother could have helped her get ready and that her father could have walked her down the aisle. 

But as Claude’s wyvern lifts them up into the sky, she sees the Blue Sea Star peek out under the canopy of stars, and knows that her parents haven’t missed a thing.

**__________**

Claude finds out when they’re in Brigid. 

He finds out during Ashe and Petra’s wedding reception (Byleth was right. Ashe, newly minted captain of an order of knights called the Blue Sun, had gotten down on one knee and sworn to serve the Queen of Brigid publicly and privately).

“You’re not drinking?” He asks as she turns down a glass of wine in favour of water. His wife is a social drinker, who never says no to one or two glasses of a bold red when in the right company. 

“I can’t,” she says simply, picking at the spiced fish on her plate.

Suddenly feeling guilty, Claude sets his own glass down onto the table, wondering what he’s missing. “Why not?” 

She hides a sneaky grin behind her glass of water. “Do you remember that third week in Gautier? When we saw the northern lights for the first time?”

He nods earnestly. How could he ever forget? On their mounts, Ingrid and Sylvain had led them up into the night sky, where they’d gotten an impeccable view of the dancing blues and greens of nature’s greatest artwork. 

The high they’d felt afterwards had last them well through the night, fanning the flames of a passion that burned hotter than the flickering fire in the—

Her smile widens when his eyes widen and she knows he’s figured it out, placing a hand over her stomach. They’d discussed this situation dozens of times while up north, deciding it was time to let nature take its course. He hadn’t expected to reach the finish line so soon. “You’re…”

“Yes,” she confirms, threading her fingers through his. “I just found out a week ago.”

“After the first time we ditched the contraceptives?”

“It appears so.”

“Wow,” he breathes, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “I must have some strong swimmers.”

She laughs as she swats him on the arm, and he catches her wrist and uses it to pull her closer, kissing her temple. “A hundred gold says it’s a boy. Firstborn boys run on both sides of my family. I’m pretty sure all my boys carry Y chromosomes.”

“It’s a girl,” she argues. “Firstborn girls run on my side.”

They shake on it. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?” 

When they make the official announcement a month later, Sylvain takes all the credit.

**__________**

It’s not often that Claude sees Byleth in pain. She’d always been so strong, that even in the face of death she’d never once show an ounce of weakness.

So for him to see her face contorted in agony and be able to do nothing about him makes his chest brutally tight. Sixteen hours in, the pained howl that falls from her lips still hurts him all the same. She’d gone into labour in the middle of the night. 

“Oh, this is awful,” she groans through another contraction. He sits behind her, his mind a jumble of thoughts as he tries to remember everything Marianne had taught him last month. He rubs her back and lets her squeeze the life out of his hand. He counts the minutes between contractions, - six, currently - pats at her damp forehead with a cloth and braids her hair back so it’s out of the way. 

The tasks he assigns himself are almost more for his sake than her own. Something to distract himself from the painful situation he’d put her in. 

Marianne checks to see how dilated she is, Byleth inhaling sharply through her teeth as she does so. “The baby is quite low,” she reports, and you’re about six—no, almost seven centimetres along. I don’t think it’ll be long now.”

With her head currently in his lap, Byleth only manages a small nod as another contraction comes - almost five minutes now - and she takes huge gulps of air and twists in his hold, hiding her face in his thigh. “Annette was right,” she moans. “This _sucks._ It isn’t magical at all.”

“Just ride the contractions out,” Marianne instructs softly, hands working efficiently as she prepares to listen to their baby’s heartbeat. “Let them go up and then come back down…” she coos, her voice almost enough to calm Claude’s frazzled nerves.

“I think I need to— get in the bath now,” Byleth says to no one in particular. “Claude, help me up.”

“Do you want me to carry you?” He offers, hooking his arms under hers and helping her to up onto her unsteady, ‘ _not swollen, Claude’_ feet. 

“No,” she refuses. “My legs aren’t broken, I’m just pregnant.”

He and Marianne exchange an amused glance when she isn’t looking. Even now, the Queen of Fodlan is determined to act as independently as ever. (Though she whines with each step towards the bathroom)

Already filled with warm water, Claude lets her grasp his arm as she slides in. Her relief is momentary, and she only grows more anxious and agitated as time drifts by. 

“Breathe, breathe, breathe,” he coaches through another contraction as he sits behind her in the tub. “You’re doing so great, By. You’re almost there—”

“Claude,” she wheezes, eyes screwed shut. “I love you, but please, gods, _shut up.”_

He shuts up. Marianne takes over, assigning Claude to the task of sitting quietly and rubbing his wife’s back. 

What could either be an hour or four goes by, and when it’s _finally_ time to push, he and Marianne help Byleth back into bed. 

“It’ll be easier to step in should any...complications arise,” she explains, well informed of the difficulty Sitri had during her own birth. “When you feel another contraction, you can push now. Only during the contraction.”

He takes his place at her side, elbows digging into the plush bedding. “I’m right here,” Claude assures her, bushing back her damp bangs as she clutches his hand. He kisses each knuckle in the way he knows she loves. “I love you. ”

She chokes on her sob, her eyes wet and bleary with fatigue. “I hate you so much right now.”

“I know.”

“We’re not having sex ever again.”

“That seems a little extreme.” 

“Never. Again.”

“We both know that isn’t true. It’s impossible to resist me.”

It’s amazing to him that, even in the process of delivering their child, she can summon up enough magic to send a shock of electricity through her hand. “If I remember this I might be able to!”

It’s rare that Byleth yells at him. In fact, he could count the amount of times she’d done so on one hand alone, and only one of those instances isn’t traced back to her hormone induced irritation and significantly lowered patience.

He knows that none of it is her fault but...maybe they _would_ wait a while before going through this again. 

“Don’t even _start_ planning the second one. I know that look on your face, Claude, Khalid, whatever your damn name is.” 

Were his thoughts not even safe anymore?

A crushing force clamping down on his hand indicates that she’d started pushing, and Claude does his best to clear his mind and give her his undivided attention and support. 

The ensuing hour passes by in a blur of moments, marked by Byleth’s grunts of exertions strained shouts. Her crest blinks above them, a blessing from the goddess that gives her the strength to make one big, final push, most likely shattering the bones of Claude’s hand as the sound of their child’s cries fill their bedroom and Byleth collapses back into the pillows with a heavy sigh.

“Oh, Byleth,” Marianne coos, giving her a quick checkup before wrapping her in the blanket that Claude’s mother had made. “Heartbeat sounds good. Lungs are working quite excellent. Ten fingers and ten toes...You have a very healthy baby girl.”

“Girl,” Byleth echoes, blue eyes glowing with triumph as Marianne places the baby on her chest. “You owe me a hundred gold,” she laughs softly, knowing full well that all his money is already hers.

He can’t find it in himself to sulk at the lost bet, because he’s already too taken with the baby sitting in Byleth’s arms. She’s still red and splotchy and covered in things that he doesn’t know the name of, but she’s _here._ She even has a dark tuft of brown hair on her head that makes him smile. “Can I…”

“Left hand under the head, right arm under the bottom,” Byleth reminds him as he helps her sit up and transfer their baby into his arms. His hand is still numb, but he forgets all about it the second that his daughter is in his hold. She’s squirming and wiggling against him, breathing with the softest rises and falls of her tiny chest. 

“Hi, my girl,” he whispers to the small, squished face. He leans down to press a kiss to Byleth’s lips. He sets his forehead against hers for a moment, their eyes closed as they listen to the distressed cries slow to a soft murmur, their past transgressions already forgotten. 

“Do you have a name for the princess?” Marianne asks as she hands Byleth a glass of water. 

“Laila Eisner von Riegan,” Claude says, captivated by the little person that he and Byleth had made. “In Almyran it means _born in the night._ ” As if in response, her little fist uncurls and skims against his chin, making him swoon once more.

“Thank you,” he whispers to his wife, who wears a weary but satisfied expression on her face, just as full of love as he is at the moment.

They were definitely doing this again.

**__________**

For a long time, Claude had operated daily on less than five or six hours of sleep. He’d heard of the sleepless nights that new parents had experienced, and thought that it would be nothing new.

 _This_ however, was an entirely different kind of tired. One that he felt deep within his bones during his every waking hour. It was as if the exact second that he would close his eyes, an impossibly loud wail that couldn’t possibly come from someone so small fills the castle, possibly waking all of Almyra.

Byleth is already up, standing over their daughter’s bassinet and rocking the wailing infant in her arms. 

“Let me try,” Claude offers, holding his arms out as he blinks himself awake. Byleth doesn’t hesitate to hand over responsibility, reclaiming her spot in bed. He knows she won’t sleep until their daughter does, but at least she’s getting some rest. 

When Byleth’s back is turned, Claude reaches into the nightstand and pulls out a pacifier, fully aware of the fact that he’s cheating as he pops it into her mouth and the room goes silent. 

Success. 

“You’re always so good with her,” Byleth praises as he rocks the child to sleep. “I can never get to calm down that quickly.” 

“Just one of my many talents, By,” he whispers as he places her back in the bassinet. “Maybe the next one will be yours to tame.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she murmurs, eyes already shut. “We’ll see about that.”

The next night, Claude reaches into the drawer of his nightstand to find it empty, and his daughter’s cries continue to fill his ears as he turns to the lump in the blankets where Byleth lays, holding up the pacifier. 

“You can’t fool me.”

**__________**

Despite what Byleth had said many, many times over the years, they have another baby. A boy this time, with blue hair and green eyes, and a name hailing from his maternal grandfather’s home of Faerghus. Lukas Eisner von Riegan was born on the day of the Rite of Rebirth.

At the ages of seven and five, his children run unofficial babysitter Seteth ragged around the monastery. Laila sneaks around the monastery grounds like a shadow, stirring up trouble whenever she can and escaping reprimand from her mother’s advisor with an innocent bat of her little green eyes. 

Lukas takes after his mother, quietly allowing his sister to drag him around, petting cats and dogs when he acts as lookout while she raids the kitchen for leftover sweets, hanging onto Flayn at every chance he gets.

As Seteth and Flayn corral their children, Byleth and Claude sit on opposite ends of the audience chamber, stacks of official documents spread between them. 

“Quite the momentous day for Fódlan, your Majesty,” King Khalid praises. “Your country now openly barters with Sreng, Morfis, Brigid, Dagda, and now Almyra,” he says, quill swooping as he signs off on the final missive.

“I was merely following an example set by a former student of mine,” she grins, collecting the signed papers and handing them to her notary to be stamped with the official seal of United Fódlan. “His dream of open borders may have rubbed off on me a little.”

The King raises a brow, his facade breaking as he beams at her. “Sounds like a wise man.”

“My husband has his moments.”

The doors to the audience chamber are thrown open as they’re cleaning up, two sets of feet pattering against the floor and followed by a very exhausted looking Seteth and Flayn. 

Laila is a mess, covered in dirt and leaves, wildflowers strewn throughout her brown hair as she leaps into Claude’s lap, squealing as Claude tickles her all over.

Lukas, clean as a whistle, holds a Fraldarius Wirehair in his arms, calmly approaching his mother and allowing her to pick him up before snuggling into her chest. 

“As always, your children are a _pleasure,”_ Seteth says through an almost forced smile as he plucks an acorn from his hair and rolls his sleeves down to hide the claw marks striping his forearms before walking away, muttering something about the stunning likeliness.

“Should we go get some dinner?” Claude asks, setting the heavy crown down on the table and replacing it with the blue and yellow silk he’d been gifted long ago. He hoists Laila up on her shoulders, where she proceeds to play with the short braid that’s recently returned to his hair. 

Byleth sheds her cloak and diadem, running her fingers freely through her hair as Lukas clings to her chest. She plants both feet on the ground and rises, moving to Claude’s side. “I’m starving. You really talked yourself in circles today.”

Claude wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I’ve waited for this day a long time, By. Just wanted to make sure everything was perfect.”

“And was it?”

“Beyond what I could have ever dreamed,” he answers honestly. It’d taken a long time, but the change he’d so longed to see in the world had finally taken shape. Ideals were changing, adapting to each political climate and a new way of acceptance was being nurtured in Fódlan and the lands beyond. 

On top of that, he had a beautiful family to witness it with.

**__________**

Lukas Eisner von Reigan happens to be the subject of one of his father’s most famous debates, almost twelve years later.

“No,” Claude repeats, slamming his hands on the conference table. “Absolutely not.”

Across the table, Lorenz actually makes a face that says he agrees. “For once, I find myself aligned with His Majesty. Have you two _thought this through at all?”_

All eyes fix on the teenagers at the centre of the table, sitting hand in hand and flanked by Marianne and Byleth.

“The child of a heathen!” Lorenz reiterates to his daughter. “Do you not recall the stories of my Academy days? Each day was but a threat to my safety _and_ my sanity under their leadership!” 

Lorenz’s daughter, Melody, casts her father a dark look. “Don’t speak of Queen Byleth that way.”

Lorenz rears back as Claude glares. “I speak not of the queen! I assure you that I hold her in the highest of regards. It is her _father_ that I speak of.”

“And you,” Claude adds, pointing a finger at his son, then at Lorenz, “Do you want that to be a face you’ll see almost daily? I know I couldn’t stand seeing it.” 

It’s becoming alarmingly clear to the entire table that the issue sits not in the courtship between the children, but in the possibility that the father’s face at becoming _in-laws._

“I’m the King of Fódlan,” Claude starts. “There’s no law I can’t overturn to stop _this,”_ he points between himself and Lorenz, “from becoming a thing.”

“King _consort,”_ Byleth reminds him, taking a sip of tea as Laila snickers into her hand. “You have no power to change the laws of Fodlan, dear.”

“Then you change them!” He begs desperately before beginning to again squabble with Count Gloucester. The children look desperately at their mothers, who both sigh as their husband’s continue to bicker in a manner extremely similar to the Academy days. 

“I don’t appreciate the way that you’re speaking to one another,” Byleth announces, her voice accompanied with the authority of a monarch, silencing the two men. “You both want your children to be happy, correct?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, but—”

“Of course, By—”

She holds a hand up to silence them once more. “Then like it or not, you two are on the same team, and it’s about time you act like it.”

The looks on their faces can only be described as _sullen._ Like they were children she’d put in a time-out. “Fine,” they both grumble. 

“Then I think this calls for a hug,” Byleth decides, biting her lip to maintain her composure. 

As the two longtime rivals shuffle to the centre of the room and stiffly wrap their arms around each other, Byleth’s only wish is that Ignatz were her to memorialize it. 

**__________**

Like any exhilarating play or satisfying novel, the curtain falls or is bookended by a final period to signify the end of an amazing story.

When their children come of age and are ready to receive the responsibilities of their parents, Byleth and Claude retire from their respective roles. Their daughter takes the throne of Almyra, and their son sits on the throne of Fódlan. 

Though the journeys they’d shared and the changes they’d made during their time as monarchs would forever be marked as some of Claude’s greatest achievements, he was more than happy to take a step back from it all. It was time to enjoy the fruits of their labour, and what better place to relax than in a small cabin in the Ogmha, where he and Byleth could travel freely and experience the world as mere spectators, visit their children and grandchildren or stay at home and bask in the peace and quiet, passing time by reading or simply laying in each other’s embrace. 

Growing old with Byleth was a gift he once didn’t think he would have. It roots her into his life, his true partner and best friend. Though the fire of youth still burns brightly in both their eyes, it’s nice to relax and simply exist as they are. They’d gone by many things in this life. Professor and Student. Duke and General. King and Queen. Mother and Father. 

It was finally time to be Claude and Byleth.

Whilst the glory of their youth was nothing to be wished away, each new wisp of grey or white hair, every new ache and pain settling into their bones was but a reminder of the blessings that had been bestowed upon them. Not everyone had the chance to grow old together. 

Claude had always thought Fódlan was strange. There were still many things he didn’t understand, but he knew that it would always be his home.

He’d met Edelgard and Dimitri first, and while he may not have ever fully fleshed out their characters, he knew that they were good people.

As for that mysterious new professor that he’d been so wrongly underwhelmed by…

The bullet point that had consisted of a single name, was circled, underlined three times, and question marked.

There was a reason for all of that, he knew now. That pull of attraction he’d felt that night in Remire, that inexplicable feeling that Byleth had admitted to experiencing too. 

It’d wrapped around his heart and hers that night. Even as his vision fades and her body grows frail, he knows that what links them together will remain long after they’re gone. 

**__________**

_The green haired curator watches as two people approach the museum’s most treasured piece of art. A simple thing that had once hung on the walls of the Riegan Estate now protected by two inches of bulletproof glass._

_“Claude,” he hears the teal haired woman say tiredly. “We’re here to research, not gawk at paintings.”_

_“Well...you have to admit, the Ruler of Dawn kind of looks like you, Teach.”_

_The woman tilts her head to the side as she studies the face. “I guess you’re kind of right.” She pauses, getting as close as the glass will allow her. “You kind of look like the King of Unification.”_

_“No way. I’m handsomer then he is, and I don’t think my nose looks like that.”_

_The curator laughs quietly at that, not at all shocked by the easy confidence akin to the man in the painting. “Either way, they look really happy together. I hope that our wedding photos can capture the same ambiance.”_

_They study the painting for a few moments longer before the woman speaks again. “I thought that old Almyran tradition required red silk for the handfasting part of the ceremony.”_

_“Maybe they thought that the gold looked cooler?” The man volunteers, curiosity spiking in his voice._

_“Hm,” she replies thoughtfully, blue eyes staring at the string. “Perhaps so.”_

_They move on, and the curator smiles to himself as they walk away hand in hand, moving on to the section dedicated to Old Adrestia as he murmurs to no one in particular._

_“I am happy that you found each other again.”_

**__________**

Ignatz Victor (b. 1162)

_**The King of Unification and the Ruler of Dawn, 1186** _

_Khalid “Claude” von Riegan liked to refer to fate as an invisible thread. According to ancient Almyran proverbs from the time, there’s a golden thread that connects two people who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. Over time, the thread can stretch, or even tangle, but it never breaks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In another part of the museum is likely the syllabus that Claude saved, along with the garlands that Flayn continued to preserve for them.  
> ____
> 
> This fic is finished?? I still can't believe it. I started it so I could have something to distract myself with as the school year dragged on, and never could have expected everything that happened afterwards. The response was honestly heartwarming.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read and followed along so diligently! And to those who commented and left kudos...You're the reason why I worked so hard to get chapters out so quickly. I read every comment and appreciated every single one. There's nothing better than hearing your thoughts and receiving good feedback. Fic is such a fun thing to indulge in, whether it's reading or writing, and it's even better when you have a supporting community to enjoy it with. 
> 
> Again, thank you all. I'm sending you a safe, virtual hug through the screen!
> 
> (also I still haven't finished the third playthrough of the GD route that inspired this all...maddening really do be like that)  
> _____
> 
> btw...i have fun projects i'll be picking back up and new, exciting things I'll be working on over the next few weeks! You should take a look at my newish fic, "the story of us" (previously 'closure') which is essentially a romp through White Clouds with a twist ;)
> 
> yell with me about claudeleth on twitter: @abbycordero7

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! In case you haven't been told today, you're amazing, you're worthy, and you are loved!


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